


the Kept Boy

by moonythejedi394, Neutralchaos



Series: the same story; told different ways [4]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Age Play, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Hygiene, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Sexual Assault, BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Captain America Big Bang 2018 | cabigbang, Clothed Sex, Cock Slut, Cock Warming, Collars, Come Eating, Comeplay, Condoms, Crying, Dacryphilia, Digital Art, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, Eating Disorders, Embedded Images, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Formalwear, Gang Violence, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Lingerie, M/M, Major Character Injury, Makeup, Masturbation, Mob Boss Bucky Barnes, Mob Wife Steve Rogers, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Omega Steve Rogers, POV Steve Rogers, Past Child Abuse, Pedophilia, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Power Dynamics, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Public Sex, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Russian Mafia, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Roleplay, Shower Sex, Size Kink, Spanking, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Sub Steve Rogers, Subdrop, Wax Play, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, hey look for once i'm tagging my porn, minus the arm, now it is, safety is sexy, that should be a tag, these things are not all related, warnings include
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 235,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi394, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neutralchaos/pseuds/Neutralchaos
Summary: Here is James Barnes, the most dangerous Alpha in New York. Rich, powerful, cocky and short-tempered, his only skill greater than his persuasion or intimidation is his marksmanship. Head of the Seyrbakov crime family, inherited over the heads of the late Aleksei Seyrbakov’s own sons, who he had deported when they attempted to murder him. Top of Interpol and the FBI and the CIA and probably the NSA’s most wanted lists, but there’s never enough evidence to bring even a parking ticket against him, as it has been for New York’s Bratva since the late 1910s. His company smuggles weapons, drugs, alcohol, tobacco, exotic animals, you name it, but you’ll never find a shred of proof. If land barons still existed, then Barnes – owning property in all the five boroughs, the state, the country, even on other continents – would easily be one. When you think of the Russian mafia, you think of Barnes. Here is James Barnes, gracing the scum and lowlifes of Brooklyn with his presence, and here is Steve Rogers, not-so-cheap yet consistently broke hooker, sitting on his lap like he belongs there.Very rapidly, that makes him the most dangerous Omega in New York.





	1. enter the harlot and the landlord

**Author's Note:**

> _please heed the tags, individual warnings for rape/non-non will be mentioned in notes as they come along._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _guess what time it is? it's time for the kinky mafia fic!_   
>    
>  _well, i'm back at it again with the a/b/o stucky, if you don't know me, hi, i'm your friendly (and currently spooky) neighborhood angst/trash queen, and this is part 6 of an on-going a/b/o multiverse series featuring stucky and the fact that having a uterus is inconvenient. when you're done here, you can check out the other five parts of this series if you want, or you could wait until this evening for me to post chapter two of this fic. speaking of the schedule, i'll be posting two chapters each day until the final chapter, which i'll give you a day's wait to ruminate on the rest of the fic before i give you the last chapter. so when chapter 24 comes, know that i warned you._   
>  _("wait, that sounds ominous moony," you say? why are you saying that? this is an indulgent mafia-au fic! c'mon! stop accusing me of being unnecessarily angsty!) (lexi is Looking At Me, i'm sure.) (what do you mean, i nicknamed myself a friendly neighborhood angst queen? lexi nicknamed me an angst queen, i just added the friendly neighborhood thing!)_   
>  _i'll stop babbling. on with the show!_

#  __

#  _enter the harlot and the landlord_

 

Steve’s sitting on the floor of a dusty old warehouse, idly picking at a tear in his nylons, bored out of his mind and watching a couple of nobodies scrap it out in a bare-knuckle fight. He’s only there to look good. His boss, his pimp really, has a hand on his hair but doesn’t do anything, which is disappointing. Steve loves having his hair petted, even if it’s by a complete and utter moron like Brock Rumlow.

 

The fight doesn’t interest him. The warehouse is clouded with the scent of sweat, blood, liquor and smoke. The ramshackle ring is just a chalk circle, and Rando Alpha #1 is about to knock Rando Alpha #2 out of it. Neither of them are important and while Steve’s sure he’s blown Rando #2 before, he doesn’t know their names. He keeps idly picking at his nylons, waiting for something interesting to happen or for somebody to come up to Rumlow and buy a favor off him. That favor being Steve. He’d much rather be somewhere getting fucked than watching this fight.

 

Rumlow’s having a business conversation with some other rando, which Steve cares about just as much as the fight. He’s still not petting Steve’s hair, and Steve is still salty about it. He looks longingly at his phone, plugged in behind Rumlow’s chair, but it’s still charging and the cord isn’t long enough to reach to where he’s sitting. He looks back at the fight with a bored sigh and props his temple against Rumlow’s knee.

 

Next to him, Darcy lays down on the floor and puts her head in his lap. Steve automatically begins finger-combing her hair, because at least he understands that if you’re going to touch an Omega’s hair, you’d better pet them.

 

“Bored as shit,” Darcy whispers.

 

“Same,” Steve says back flatly, then does the dance move to follow her line.

 

“Quiet,” Rumlow snaps.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. Darcy raises her eyebrows. They have a silent conversation of _how long is this fucking night going to be_ and _I have no fucking clue,_ and Steve sighs again.

 

Brass Fang runs the illegal fights and Rumlow runs Brass Fang. Steve and Darcy work for Fang, and normally on a Friday night they’d be standing on some random street corner in platform stilettos, but Rumlow heard rumors that the head of the Seyrbakov crime family was going to show up to tonight’s fight and decided he wanted his two best assets on display. To show off. Like they are his pets and he is a collector of exotic animals posing for his portrait. Steve thinks this is complete bullshit and imagines that Barnes will not be impressed in any way by a man who’s keeping two of his hookers off the streets to sit by his boots, earning exactly zero dollars. He also thinks that the head of the Seyrbakov family isn’t going to even bother scuffing his shoes to attend an underground fight ring run by a gang as small time as Brass Fang. The gang barely controls a neighborhood. The Seyrbakov family runs the whole of New York City; minus Staten Island, but who gives a shit about Staten Island?

 

At least by Darcy putting her head in his lap, Steve can’t rip his nylons any more than they already are. And if he unfocuses his eyes and lets his head relax against Rumlow’s knee, he can get some fucking sleep. Rumlow hasn’t even said if he’s paying them for tonight, which would be just like him.

 

The fight ends and Rando #2 is hauled off half-unconscious. Steve’s sure he should probably know Rando #1’s name by now since he’s won the last six fights, but he doesn’t really care. Darcy is already asleep and Steve’s on his way there. The both of them can sleep with their eyes open; Steve can even sleep standing up. It’s a skill they learned while standing on random street corners waiting for somebody to proposition them.

 

Instead of picking at his nylons, Steve starts picking at the frayed hem of his shorts. They hardly cover his ass and the waistband stops just under his pierced navel, which is exposed by the mesh crop top he’s wearing. His bandeau keeps slipping down his chest under the top, and it’s not something Steve would normally wear; Rumlow picked it out. Steve thinks he looks like a country groupie and regrets everything. The only things of what he’s wearing that Steve genuinely likes are his spiked boots, the lace choker around his neck, the silver hoop in the cartilage of his right ear and the faux-plugs in his lobes. Darcy’s dressed similarly, but she’s wearing a bra instead of a bandeau since she, unlike him, has tits to fill a bra. His arms and the gold tiger tattoo of Brass Fang's symbol on his wrist are exposed by the crop top, which is mesh to begin with, so Steve is freezing. It’s November and the warehouse isn’t heated, which makes Rumlow’s a dick on top of being a moron. Fool’s wearing a jacket and full-length jeans, and Steve and Darcy are stuck wearing mesh and nylons.

 

Steve glances at his phone again. It’s nowhere near a high enough charge to be worth unplugging it. Rumlow’s palm lifts off his head and then drops back down, but he’s still not petting him. Steve thinks he’s a jackass. He liked John Garrett, the last guy in charge of Brass Fang, a hell of a lot better. Even with his all his faults and failings, Garrett never made any of his Omegas sit at his feet.

 

A new fight starts, but it's over just as quickly as the loser gets punched hard enough that he goes sprawling at Steve’s toes. The guy goes up on his elbows and spits out blood and what looks like a tooth. Steve wrinkles his nose and pulls his feet away, worried the loser got blood on his boots.

 

The fella that was talking business with Rumlow finally leaves, and Rumlow redirects his attention to the ring. He begins to absently stroke Steve’s hair and Steve mouths _Finally_ at Darcy, who’s still asleep.

 

“Any sign of Barnes?” Rumlow asks Grant Ward, who’s standing next to them.

 

Ward shakes his head. Steve yawns.

 

The doors of the warehouse burst open then. Ward yanks a gun and Rumlow sits up, his fist curling on Steve’s hair and making him yelp in pain. The fight stops and those gathered around the ring scatter; dropping their drinks, blunts, cigarettes, whatever they’re holding, then half of them draw guns, too. Steve throws Rumlow’s hand off of him and prods Darcy awake, but given the lack of men shouting _POLICE,_ he doubts it’s the cops.

 

It isn’t the cops. Steve strains to get a look at the doors while Rumlow sinks back in his chair, then the crowd gathered parts and Steve doesn’t have to strain anymore. Darcy prods him in the knee, but it isn’t necessary. He’s looking.

 

Five people are walking up to Rumlow now. Steve recognizes the Alpha in the lead by reputation and newspaper clippings only. As he approaches, it’s as if time slows down, just so Steve can watch his coat sway in the breeze of his stride. The cigarette smoke parts to reveal the shine of his hair. The large factory lights swaying just to accentuate the curve of his cheeks and jaw under the shadow of the hat pulled low on his brow. He’s dressed finely; black trench coat falling to his ankles, polished dress shoes stirring up the dust of the warehouse floor, tailored suit hugging his body in a way that makes Steve lift an eyebrow in interest. The other three men are relatively unimportant, but the Omega, spinning a knife over her knuckles, Steve recognizes as Natalia Romanoff, the second in command of the Seyrbakov family.

 

In the lead, then, is the infamous James Barnes. He’s handsome, Steve thinks, in a casual, _I’m in charge of the Russian mafia_ sort of way. His hair is slicked back and falls just past his jaw, which is lightly stubbled, just bridging the line between carelessly gorgeous and wild. His eyes flash yellow and then green in the old lights, and even the gray at his temples makes him look refined rather than aged. A celebrity mob boss, he exudes an aura of power, prestige, old and dirty and bloody money, the American dream.

 

That aura is pressed into the hand-stitches of his tailored suit. It’s oiled in the gleam of his leather coat. It’s laced into the shine of his very shoes. It fills the whole damn warehouse without even trying, in the way only men with that kind of power and money can succeed in doing. Rumlow’s attempting to mimic that aura by having Steve and Darcy lie like leopards at his feet, but James Barnes does it with his hands in his pockets.

 

“Evening, Barnes,” Rumlow greets.

 

Barnes sweeps off his hat and nods to him, though the motion manages to become almost condescending as he gives Rumlow a smile like he’s greeting a child. “Evening,” he echoes. Steve thinks his voice sounds like molten chocolate. “Lovely place you have here.”

 

By the bored tone of his molten chocolate voice, Steve assumes he doesn’t mean it.

 

Rumlow does not stand up and Barnes does not look impressed by the hookers on display. He doesn’t even look at Steve or Darcy.

 

“What can I do for you?” Rumlow asks. He waves a hand and Ward puts away his gun. The rest of the gang members follow suit. Barnes does not look as though the guns even bothered him in the first place.

 

“Just here to get a piece of the action,” Barnes says with an easy roll of his shoulders. “You’ve got a nice thing going here.” He gestures to the ring behind him. “Been a while since I had time to take the night off to enjoy a little Roman sport.”

 

“Glad to bring you back to the ring,” Rumlow tells him.

 

Barnes gives him a definitely condescending smile.

 

“New fight’s just about to start,” Rumlow says anyway, clearly ignoring Barnes’s attitude. “Let my man Ward here know if you want to make any bets.”

 

Ward tightens his jaw in a way that makes Steve think he’s not happy to be reduced to a bet collector.

 

Barnes glances over his shoulder at the ring, then shrugs and pulls a billfold from the pocket of his suit. He counts out a few Bens, then holds them out to Ward. “On the little guy, whatever your odds are,” he says in a tone that betrays how little he actually cares if he wins or loses; a few hundred dollars means nothing to him.

 

Ward takes the money wordlessly and heads to find the actual bet collector. Barnes looks at Rumlow and raises an eyebrow expectantly.

 

“Stevie, go get our guest a chair,” Rumlow says.

 

Steve tightens his jaw in a way to indicate that he’s not happy being reduced to a go-fetcher. But he rises to his feet, brushes the dust off his hardly covered ass and the backs of his nylons, and goes in search of a chair. Darcy sits up when he leaves. Steve makes his way towards the bar, grabs a folding chair, then walks back to Rumlow and sets it up.

 

Barnes still does not look impressed and even less so with the folding chair. After all, Rumlow’s sitting in a wide, studded leather armchair. Barnes looks at the folding chair, then at Rumlow and raises his eyebrows. Steve does, too, glancing between his pimp and the most dangerous man in the entirety of New York.

 

Rumlow works his jaw, then stands up, kneeing Darcy in the back in the process, who scrambles to her feet and away. Rumlow smiles tightly and stiffly offers the armchair to Barnes.

 

“Thank you,” Barnes says, like he doesn’t mean it.

 

He shrugs off his trench coat and removes his hat, knocking snow off the brim. One of the lackeys takes both and steps aside, as Barnes turns and sits in the leather armchair. He flexes his fingers on the studded arms, leaning back and lounging in the chair to make himself comfortable in the way Alphas do to make themselves look bigger and tougher. Normally, Alphas look like douchebags when they do this. Barnes looks like he's mocking the suspicious eyes watching him just by daring to  _be_ comfortable.

 

His three lackeys file around to stand behind the chair and Romanoff stands beside him, flipping her knife with a bored expression. Barnes sets his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning back casually and assessing the fight with disinterest.

 

Darcy goes to stand at Rumlow’s shoulder, who’s now sitting in the folding chair. Steve goes to sit down again, to resume his napping position against Rumlow’s knee, but Barnes is abruptly looking at him.

 

His gaze sweeps up and down Steve’s body, lingering on the tears in his nylons. Steve stands still, acting unconcerned, but there’s something almost predatory in Barnes’s gaze that’s making his breath catch in his throat.

 

“This is Steve,” Rumlow says, holding his hand with a casual wave, but he fails to hold back the smug pride that he always gets when introducing him. “Steve Rogers.”

 

“I’ve heard of him,” Barnes says casually.

 

Steve’s heart skips a beat, shook. Barnes has _heard_ of _him?_   _James Barnes_ has heard of  _Steve?_ Since fucking when?

 

“Only male Omega for sale in New York,” Barnes continues. 

 

Steve is no longer shook. He doesn’t take kindly to being talked about as if he’s a dog or a piece of furniture, even if it’s by the most dangerous man in New York. He's not afraid of Barnes and he's not going to be so blatantly demeaned like that, he's a hooker, not a slave. Steve crosses his arms and gives Barnes a dirty look.

 

“My _time_ is for sale,” he corrects.

 

Rumlow gives him a fast, warning look, but Barnes’s expression remains cool. Unruffled, unaffected, uncaring, it's impossible to tell. Until his lips curl slowly at the corners, and he raises a hand to crook a finger beckoningly.

 

"Why don't you come over here, Stevie?" Barnes asks in a soft, level tone.

 

Steve’s heart skips a beat again; his arms slip from their position crossed over his chest. He almost takes a step forward. Barnes never falters in his  _come hither_ smirk. Steve no longer knows what's happening. 

 

“He’s not working tonight,” Rumlow says quickly.

 

Steve’s only there to make Rumlow look good and be bored, after all.

 

“Even better,” Barnes says. He pats his thigh, still smiling.

 

Rumlow gives Steve another warning look. One that says _sit at my feet_ and Steve decides that Rumlow’s a worthless jackass, and he's especially not worth annoying the head of the Seyrbakov family.

 

He moves forward, and Rumlow smiles until Steve passes him. Barnes’s smile turns smug as Steve sets a hand on his shoulder; he leans back in the chair and Steve carefully perches himself on Barnes’s knee. Rumlow’s face turns murderous, but when Barnes looks over at him, he hastily schools his expression. Steve curls an arm over Barnes’s shoulder and leans on his chest like he belongs there. He is all too happy to do anything that makes Rumlow so pissed and yet unable to punish him for it.

 

It’s not like Rumlow can actually risk angering James Barnes, no more than Steve can. Rumlow’s only a small time drug peddler and pimp who runs an underground fight ring. The Seyrbakov family has been gathering land, money, and power in New York since Prohibition times, and now that Barnes is in charge of it, he owns half the city. Barnes keeps a firm grip on all illegal imports, exports, the drug trade, weapons smuggling, has police chiefs and the mayor even on his payroll, and Steve thinks he's on Interpol’s watchlist.

 

Rumlow is nothing despite his leopards. Steve might not be afraid of him, but Barnes is quite literally the most powerful man in New York.

 

He’s also warm. Steve, making a quick decision to risk overstepping his bounds to take advantage of Barnes’s body heat, curls his legs over Barnes’s spread knees and presses close to his body.

 

Barnes doesn’t even seem to notice. He turns to watch the fight, his expression bored, and Steve props his temple on his fist to go back to napping with his eyes open, acting as indifferent as Barnes himself. Darcy catches his gaze and raises her eyebrows briefly. Steve flicks his upward, then lets his eyes unfocus.

 

A hand sets itself on his thigh. Steve glances down briefly, and Barnes sweeps his thumb under the frayed hem of Steve’s shorts, just before the crease of his thigh and his torso. Steve’s not very affected by the motion, until he looks at Barnes’s face.

 

His expression is still bored, but his gaze is sweeping over Steve’s body with calculated evaluation. There’s definitely something predatory in it that manages to catch at the bottom of Steve’s spine and make him shiver.

 

“I see why you’re popular,” Barnes murmurs.

 

Steve says nothing. Barnes raises his hand and grips Steve by the chin, forcing him to look him in the eye, then sweeps a thumb over his lower lip. Over his shoulder, Steve can see Rumlow looking at the fight with that angry set to his jaw, but he’s watching from the corner of his eye, and definitely pissed. So Steve, to piss him off more and please Barnes, parts his lips and ducks his head to suck Barnes’s thumb into his mouth.

 

Barnes makes no noise or motion and Steve swirls his tongue in a practiced move over the pad of Barnes’s thumb. He takes care to drag his tongue piercing up the length of his thumb, then sucks it farther into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks in the process, down to the knuckle until it hits the back of his throat. Barnes pulls his thumb out then, leaving a ring of bright red from Steve’s lipstick down the length of his thumb. Steve lifts his gaze, looking at Barnes through his lashes, then purposefully licks the trail of spit off his lower lip.

 

Barnes’s expression has not changed any, but his pupils have dilated a little.

 

“I see why you’re very popular,” he says, tone still level.

 

“Do you know, I thought you’d be taller,” Steve tells him boldly.

 

Barnes’s lip curls at a corner. Rumlow’s gripping his own knees with white knuckles, and anything that irritates Rumlow pleases Steve.

 

“Funny, everyone says that,” Barnes says. His hand returns to Steve’s thigh, then curls farther inward.

 

“Do I meet your expectations?” Steve asks with a light smirk.

 

Barnes tilts his head, as though he’s considering it, and his hand slides up the inside of Steve’s thigh until his thumb presses to the crotch of his shorts.

 

“I’ll have to see,” Barnes says eventually. Then he looks away, face still bored, to watch the fight again.

 

Darcy meets Steve’s gaze with wide eyes. Steve flicks his eyebrows up once more. He’s careful not to betray the thudding of his heartbeat, his racing mind, the disconnect between himself and the fact that this is reality, that right now he’s relaxing in James Barnes’s lap as though he belongs there. As though this isn’t a man who’s notorious for his skill with a gun, for his short temper and how he prefers to solve problems by shooting people rather than wasting time with conversation. Or how he's infamous for how he’s evaded imprisonment for the past ten years since rising to the head of the Seyrbakov crime family above even the late Aleksei Seyrbakov’s sons, who promptly vanished into thin air after attempting to kill him nine years ago. Steve is not going to allow Barnes to know that he is duly afraid of him, or especially that he’s intrigued by the something predatory in his gaze.

 

Steve tucks his head in the nape of Barnes’s neck like he belongs there. It’s his profession, to become comfortable and seductive in his ease in anyone’s arms, much as crime is Barnes’s.

 

Barnes leaves his hand where it’s barely touching Steve’s crotch, and Steve isn’t going to let him know, either, that he’s more than completely fine with it. He rests his head against his arm, curled around Barnes's neck, and lets his legs hook over the arm of the chair and turns his disinterested gaze on the ring again. Steve relaxes in Barnes's lap, comfortable and seductive in his ease, like he belongs there.

 

 

The fight ends and the little guy wins, the previous champion spitting out blood after he’s knocked out of the ring. Ward comes by and gives Barnes his winnings. Barnes takes it, counts out the bills, then almost distastefully tucks the thick wad of cash into the waistband of Steve’s shorts, like it’s chump change he doesn’t want rattling around in his pockets. His fingers brush the bare skin of Steve’s midriff and makes Steve shiver slightly.

 

“Is that a down payment?” Steve asks, not moving to touch it and ignoring his body's reaction to Barnes's fingertips brushing his skin in favor of suspicion. It’s a thousand dollars or maybe more, and if it’s for favors, that means he has to give two thirds to Rumlow.

 

“Consider it a tip,” Barnes answers easily.

 

“I haven’t even done anything,” Steve says, a little surprised. A tip means he can keep all of it, and his rent this month is definitely going to get paid.

 

Barnes raises an eyebrow and looks at him from the corner of his eye.

 

“You’re keeping my lap warm,” he says eventually. “It’s enough for now.”

 

Steve clenches his jaw and swallows, leaning away. Barnes’s hand moves suddenly, cupping Steve’s groin, and Steve hastily swallows a startled gasp. Barnes hums, like he’s debating something internally, then squeezes lightly. Steve doesn’t move. He isn’t sure what’s happening, since he’s not supposed to be working tonight and he is sure Rumlow would actually hit him if he lets Barnes do whatever it is he’s debating internally, but he’s equally sure it wouldn’t be a good idea to say no to James Barnes. He might not be  _afraid_ of either of the Alphas, but that doesn't mean he's an idiot. Rumlow will rough him up. Barnes, frankly, might kill him.

 

Then Barnes moves his hand up, until it’s curled around Steve’s stomach, and Steve exhales carefully.

 

“Have you ever fought in the ring?” Barnes asks Rumlow conversationally.

 

“Plenty of times,” Rumlow boasts; it was how he won the lead of Brass Fang after Garrett was arrested a year ago. He’d fought Ward for it and come out on top rather quickly.

 

“How about you ‘n’ me go a round?” Barnes suggests, turning his attention on Rumlow with a smirk curling his lip. “Just for some fun,” he adds, flicking up his eyebrows.

 

Rumlow’s jaw tightens. Steve glances between the two of them, at Barnes’s easy smirk and Rumlow’s evaluating, darting eyes. He's seen Alphas challenge each other before, but he's never seen an Alpha make making a challenge seem so derogatory the way Barnes has just done. Barnes had challenged Rumlow like he knows Rumlow will have no chance of winning and he only wants to laugh at his failure.

 

“Why not,” Rumlow says. He waves a hand at Ward, who goes to clear the ring for them.

 

Barnes’s smirk does not change.  He pats Steve on the thigh, Steve stands, and Barnes rises to his feet. He slips his suit jacket off his shoulders, then glances once at Steve. Barnes seems to think for a second, then holds out the jacket to Steve.

 

“Here,” he says casually, “you look cold, doll.”

 

No shit, Steve’s fucking freezing. He takes the jacket without hesitation and pulls it around his body, hugging himself in it. It falls almost to his knees and is warm from Barnes’s body; it smells heavily of him, too. Barnes smiles at him, laced with something a little predatory. Despite his newfound warmth, Steve finds a shiver going down his spine. He can't help but feel like Barnes had planned this somehow, as ridiculous as that would be. Steve doesn't even know why Barnes is gracing the scum and lowlifes of Brass Fang and its allies with his presence in the first place. Barnes just smiles at Steve, like he's satisfied by the sight of Steve being dwarfed in his jacket, then turns his attention away.

 

Rumlow strips off his shirt while Barnes removes his scarf, takes off his waistcoat and unbuttons his dress shirt with a bored ease. It leaves him in a white wife-beater and his slacks, while Rumlow is only wearing jeans. Steve can’t help but admire the pull of the undershirt over Barnes’s shoulderblades, how his arms are now exposed and his biceps ripple as he moves. Barnes takes off his rings and watch, then turns back to Steve, that same casual smirk curling his lips.

 

“Keep an eye on these for me, Stevie,” he says, then tucks a finger past the snap of Steve’s shorts to tug him forward. He drops them into the pockets of the jacket and withdraws his finger, tapping the underside of Steve’s chin as he does.

 

The gesture is a little jarring, but Steve looks up at Barnes through his lashes. He curls one corner of his lip up, knowing that it’s a look that never fails to get Alphas tugging their cocks out. Barnes’s smirk flashes predatory again and Steve pulls the jacket around his body tighter. The air between them feels electric, like there’s a charge ready to jump from Steve’s exposed skin to Barnes, who only looks amused. Steve starts to wonder what it would take to impress him. He wants to find out.

 

“We doing this or are you just going to flirt with my hookers?” Rumlow snaps.

 

“Patience,” Barnes drawls, but he turns away from Steve to face Rumlow again; Steve crinkles one nostril, his eyebrows tightening, at the loss of Barnes's attention. “Kid like you ought’a learn some.”

 

Rumlow’s really pissed now. Barnes runs a hand over his hair, then strides confidently to the ring. Rumlow follows, with the exaggerated swagger Alphas use to make them look tougher, but he just looks like a douchebag and he still looks like a boy next to Barnes.

 

“I’m assuming you don’t know Queensbury rules,” Barnes remarks.

 

“Nope,” Rumlow answers, squaring up.

 

“Good,” Barnes says, then swings.

 

This is a fight Steve has interest in. Barnes’s aura of power and money is magnetic, plus, anything that involves Rumlow getting the shit kicked out of him is fascinating to Steve. So he pushes his arms through the sleeves of Barnes’s jacket, the silk lining still warm against the bare skin of his stomach and back, and watches the growing brawl. Rumlow fights like a troll, focusing on throwing his weight around and beating his opponent into submission, but Barnes is light in his movements and quick to duck under Rumlow’s guard. Rumlow’s no slacker, but it’s clear who the winner’s going to be before the fight even gains steam.

 

It takes five minutes and Barnes knocks Rumlow out of the ring. Rumlow lands at Steve’s feet, spits blood, and Steve wrinkles his nose when a fleck hits the toe of his boot.

 

“That was fun,” Barnes says as he sweeps his hair back into place, and he’s not even out of breath. He’s grinning and his teeth flash white despite the old lights, all but one incandescent gold canine that gleams twice as precious.

 

Rumlow jerks upward, snarls and tries to swing at Barnes once again but he ducks and trips him. He clucks his tongue as Rumlow goes sprawling in the dust again. This time, he doesn’t jump back up, because Barnes crouches beside him and presses a gun seemingly drawn from nowhere into the back of his head. Steve’s breath catches in his throat. The whole warehouse seems to be holding their breath.

 

“You’ve been doing quite nicely for yourself,” Barnes says casually, pulling back the hammer of his revolver.

 

Rumlow goes very still under his gun. No one moves.

 

“I’ve ignored you and let you spread your wings,” Barnes tells him in a tone that’s both polite and demanding. “But now it’s time you paid homage to your landlord.”

 

Steve’s very glad for the jacket hanging to his knees, because these shorts are indecently tight and never has a threat made him pop a boner before. Maybe it's the sheer power in Barnes's attitude, or the way he seems irritated with the fact that he even has to make this threat in person, or that he holds the gun almost lazily like he palms the handle of it as an absent-minded habit. Then again, Steve’s never seen James Barnes in the flesh before. He’s sure, with Barnes’s magnetic aura, he’s not the first.

 

“Hear me?” Barnes asks in a level tone, pressing the gun into Rumlow’s head.

 

“Hear you,” Rumlow spits into the dust.

 

Barnes gives a satisfied nod and straightens up. He uncocks the gun and tucks it back into his ankle holster, then brushes off his hands and walks out of the ring to pick up Rumlow’s discarded shirt and wipe the blood off his knuckles with it, before dropping it into the dust of the warehouse floor. He doesn’t look at Steve, but takes his shirt and waistcoat from the armchair to don them again. Another working Omega and the EMT who’d come to patch up the worse-off go to help Rumlow up, but he waves them off and spits blood onto the ground again. Barnes buttons his waistcoat, then finally looks back at Steve. His expression is bored again.

 

Steve goes to take off the jacket and Barnes catches his shoulder.

 

“Keep it,” he says. “You’ll freeze otherwise.”

 

Steve flicks his eyebrows up. Barnes reaches into the pocket, though, and withdraws his watch and rings. He slips them back on, never breaking eye contact, then reaches out and grasps Steve by the jaw. His fingers are calloused, rough, and electric. Steve feels almost like there's no one else in this warehouse but him and Barnes, the tension between them has him zeroing in on Barnes's gaze; which says something, because Steve's ADD as fuck.

 

“I think you’ll have to exceed my expectations another night,” Barnes says calmly, then bends to kiss him.

 

Steve melts under Barnes’s mouth, the hot intrusion of his tongue and the roughness of his five o'clock shadow and the smooth glide of their lips, but it’s over before he can properly enjoy it. Barnes straightens up, that predatory glint in his eye as he wipes the lines of his lips with a thumb and forefinger to clean off the red left on his mouth by Steve's lipstick. Steve sweeps his tongue across his lips. Barnes curls his lip in a smile, picks up his trench coat, shrugs it on, and walks off. Romanoff and the three other lackeys follow instantly. The wind slams the doors shut behind them, and the warehouse is left in complete and total silence for a moment.

 

“Son of a bitch!” Rumlow curses loudly.

 

The silence is broken and the warehouse bursts into talk; swearing and yelling and whispering, as quickly as the silence was ushered, it's broken, and Steve stands there swaying on his feet. Darcy darts over to Steve and grabs his arm, her eyes bugging out of her head.

 

“What the fuck?” she gasps.

 

Steve shrugs dreamily.

 

“Fucking James Barnes!” Darcy goes on. “He fucking thinks something of you! Dunno if he likes you or he’s gonna kidnap you one morning and no one’ll ever see you again, but he's thinking something about _you!_ ”

 

Steve just shrugs again. He probably wouldn’t mind being kidnapped by Barnes.

 

Rumlow’s still spitting mad. His yellow teeth are bloody, his titanium capped canines, not even remotely precious, are shining under the blood, and his cheek has a large bruise blooming already. He grabs Steve by the hair, way tighter than Steve normally likes, and hauls him forward to leer into his face.

 

“The fuck did he say to you?” he hisses. His breath already stank of beer and cigarettes before the fight, but now it smells like blood, too, and it's nauseating.

 

“Nothing,” Steve snaps, clawing at Rumlow’s hand fisted in his hair. “Not a damn thing!”

 

“You’re not going to meet him later –”

 

“No, fuck no," Steve insists angrily, "the guy’s a creep, let go of me, asshole –”

 

Rumlow tightens his grip and Steve cuts off into a yelp. “You belong to me,” Rumlow spits in his face. Steve winces at the blood and saliva hitting his cheek. “You belong to Brass Fang. Hear me?”

 

“Hear you,” Steve echoes Rumlow’s own words bitterly.

 

Rumlow shoves him away and Darcy catches him. Steve pushes onto his own two feet and levels a glare at Rumlow; what he wouldn't give to see that bastard  _dead._

 

“Night’s over!” Rumlow shouts to the warehouse at large. “Get out!”

 

The crowd gathers to collect their winnings and Darcy and Steve haul ass out before Rumlow can call them back. Darcy pushes Steve into her car, then jumps into the driver’s seat and guns the engine without even putting on her seatbelt.

 

Steve slumps against his seat and laughs. Darcy shoots him a concerned look, but Steve laughs anyway. He presses a hand to his lips, still burning from Barnes’s kiss, and grins madly.

 

“You’re insane,” Darcy tells him.

 

“I got plans,” Steve announces, ignoring her statement. She is right, though. He’s completely mad. “I’m gonna seduce James Barnes.”

 

“You’re insane!” Darcy says.

 

“I know,” Steve agrees. He laughs again. He’s perfectly happy to pay homage to his landlord, so he’s going to seduce James Barnes or Barnes is going to buy him and either way he’s going be happy about it. He liked the predatory something in Barnes’s gaze and he wants to see it again.

 

Darcy’s phone rings and she tosses it to him without looking. Steve’s laughter fades.

 

“It’s Rumlow,” he says.

 

“Answer it!” she snaps. He sighs, but swipes his thumb across the screen.

 

“Darcy Lewis’s phone,” he says.

 

 _“You two, HQ tomorrow at nine,”_ Rumlow snaps, then hangs up. Steve drops the phone from his ear, looking distastefully at it.

 

“What’d he want?” Darcy asks almost warily.

 

“We gotta report to base at nine in the morning,” he says.

 

Darcy groans. It’s almost three now. Steve slumps in his seat, the adrenaline from James Barnes's sudden entrance to his life fading rapidly to be replaced by how much he fucking hates Brock Rumlow.

 

“Crash at my place?” Darcy offers.

 

Steve nods, then yawns. Her apartment is closer, anyway; he's exhausted.

 

He pulls the bills from the waistband of his shorts, then. A quick count reveals that Barnes had casually tucked twelve hundred dollars into his jeans, all for keeping his lap warm. Steve grins to himself and shoves the money into the bandeau around his chest, leaving out one Benjamin to hand to Darcy.

 

“What’s this for?” she says, glancing at it before pushing it into her bra.

 

“Your birthday,” Steve mumbles, settling into the seat.

 

“My birthday was two months ago,” Darcy points out.

 

Steve shrugs again. "Then it's because you're a good friend," he says. Darcy shrugs and doesn't argue.

 

He borrows a shirt and loose shorts from Darcy to sleep in, then after washing his face, he crashes onto her bed and is asleep before she gets out of the shower.

 

She shakes him awake what feels like five minutes later. He groans and presses a hand to his eyes, but sits up.

 

“Come on,” she calls, much too loud for this early on a Saturday, “you can buy Starbucks this morning.”

 

“Fine,” Steve grumbles. He sits up and rubs at his eyes, then stares at nothing while Darcy strips out of her pajamas and begins to dress. He shakes himself, then slips off the bed and heads for her bathroom. “Do I have clothes here?”

 

“You took ‘em home last week,” Darcy calls back. “Toothbrush, though, yes.”

 

Steve finds his toothbrush and brushes his teeth quickly. Then, for a moment, he just stands there, looking at his own lips in the mirror.

 

He can still feel the ghost of Barnes’s mouth on them.

 

Darcy pushes open the bathroom door, wearing a black pencil skirt over bright pink leggings and just a bra that does little more than accentuate her cleavage by how her boobs bounce just walking in. She's spilling out of it, too, and actively trying to get her breasts to fit better in the old bra with a grimace on her face.

 

"Tits out for Harambe," Steve says.

 

Darcy snorts. She hipchecks him, then goes to put in her contacts. Steve grabs a bottle of foundation from the shelf over her toilet and dabs it on, setting it with powder after she takes the bottle from his hands. He leaves it at that, adding a little mascara to his eyebrows to make them look thicker because Darcy’s too cheap to have actual eyebrow filler, then touches up his lashes while Darcy applies lipstick and eyeshadow. They have no boundaries anymore, and Steve yanks the shirt he’d borrowed over his head as he walks out to go digging through her closet. Most of her stuff won’t fit him, but he’s not going to wear last night’s nylons and mesh shirt.

 

He steals an old pair of jeans that more than likely belong to Darcy's ex Jane and a cream colored sweater that hangs off his shoulders, then tugs on socks from her dresser and puts on his boots. She comes back out, yawning carefully, and goes looking for a shirt. Steve wants to rub his eyes again, but blinks hard in favor of messing up his makeup.

 

When Darcy heads for the door, Steve follows, stealing a coat in the process. She doesn’t bother protesting or maybe she doesn't even notice.

 

“Where’s my phone,” Steve abruptly panics in the car.

 

Darcy plucks it out of the center console. “I got you, boo,” she says with a smirk. Steve sighs in relief and snatches it from her, powering it on to mobile order from Starbucks.

 

They get to the warehouse at ten to nine, and Rumlow’s already arguing with Jack Rollins and Ward.

 

“Why are we here?” Darcy asks Jessica Jones, who shrugs carelessly. She looks drunk or high, but then again, she always does.

 

Someone completely unimportant wanders over and tries to stick his hand up the back of Steve’s sweater. Steve smacks him away and shows him his middle finger until he glares and storms off. Darcy meets his gaze and rolls her eyes.

 

“– do we really want to risk pissing off the Seyrbakov family for your fucking pride –”

 

“You’re suggesting we bare our throats without a fight?”

 

“It’s the Seyrbakov family!”

 

Steve covers a yawn with his palm. Darcy curls her arm around his waist and drops her head onto his shoulder, vaguely sipping at her drink. Steve thinks she’s nuts for wanting a frappuccino in November, since his latte is currently keeping his hands warm in the drafty warehouse.

 

“This was bound to happen sooner or later –”

 

“John Garrett never would pay up to Barnes –”

 

“Garrett’s in the slammer, Ward, so shut your mouth!”

 

“We’re not paying up!”

 

The wind rushes into the warehouse as the doors open and Steve hisses as it cuts right through the weave of his sweater at the open front of his coat to bite at his skin. He hugs his coffee closer to his body and turns around to face the doors, which have been flung wide open.

 

Rumlow and Rollins quit arguing. James Barnes gives them a polite yet somehow simultaneously disdainful smile as he strides up.

 

“Morning, fellas,” he calls, hands in the pockets of his slacks under the same black trench coat. Steve’s heart is suddenly hammering in his chest. “Let’s talk business.”

 

Natalia Romanoff flips her knife. She’s the only one behind her boss, but Steve’s sure that there are more men somewhere in the shadows. Barnes and Romanoff stride forward, both of them loose and unconcerned in their movements as they approach. More importantly, Barnes doesn’t look at Steve. Most importantly, Steve pouts because of it. He’s had a taste of Barnes’s attention, and now he wants it on him at all times.

 

“You got a lotta nerve –” Rumlow starts

 

Barnes starts snapping his fingers as soon as Rumlow begins talking and Rumlow cuts himself off, his face flaming red in anger. Barnes gives Rumlow a smile like Rumlow's a particularly dense child. Rumlow's face turns even redder with more anger.

 

“I think you’ll have noticed that I own this building,” Barnes says, gesturing to the warehouse around them. “I own the building next to it. And the one across the street. I own the whole damn neighborhood. So, I don’t think I have much nerve to talk rent to my tenants.” He glances over his shoulder, to his second and holds out a hand. “Do you, Natasha?”

 

“Nope,” Romanoff says simply.

 

The knife flashes in the air as she flips it. The metal spins, light flashing white on the silver, and she catches it by the blade without looking. Similar to her boss, she exudes an aura of power and prestige, but where Barnes’s aura has an automatic warning to shut your mouth sewn into it, Steve feels sure that the knife in her hand would be embedded in its victim’s skull long before they saw it coming.

 

Barnes nods to her appreciatively. “In fact, I own pretty much the whole city,” he continues. He pushes his hands back into the pockets of his coat, raising his eyebrows at Rumllow. “You, though," he adds, "you’re pushing drugs on a few blocks. That makes you…”

 

He pauses, as though thinking, then shrugs. “A cockroach, perhaps. Nothing more.”

 

Rumlow’s jaw is tight. Steve is glancing between the two Alphas, like everyone else in the room excepting Romanoff, who calmly flips her knife continually.

 

“But what you are,” Barnes says, stepping closer, “is a pain in my ass. You’re pushing cocaine and whatnot too close to the local schools.”

 

Steve’s jaw is tight now, too. He hadn’t known Rumlow was selling to kids.

 

“So, I want you to change your territory,” Barnes finishes. “And you’re gonna pay the rent you owe me.”

 

“We owe you nothing,” Rumlow spits.

 

Barnes shakes his head, tongue clucking again, like he’d done last night before he’d drawn a gun on Rumlow.

 

“Don’t make me mad,” Barnes warns.

 

“We don’t owe you shit,” Rumlow insists, striding forward to confront Barnes. “We don’t gotta listen to you. We don’t gotta do nothing –”

 

The gun is in Barnes’s hand before Steve sees him reach under his coat. The shot echoes throughout the warehouse, and Barnes rubs at his temple with his empty hand as though it’s a mere irritant, but everyone else jumps. Darcy claps her hands over her mouth and Jessica swears more coherently than Steve’s ever heard her speak in the six or seven years he’s known her. Everyone jumps, swears, gasps, or something else, everyone but Romanoff, who hardly blinks. She flips her knife once more, the silver glinting in the light of the high windows. Rumlow sways slightly, then falls forward onto his face.

 

Barnes has shot him between the eyebrows. Barnes steps up to Rumlow’s slumped body and turns his limp head with his shoe, clucking his tongue again. Steve's breath is frozen in his chest, his eyes and mind fixed on the dark red pool beginning to spread outwards on the dusty warehouse floor. Steve's thoughts shift from Barnes to not even eight hours ago, when he had bitterly wished Rumlow dead and not for the first time. He doesn't want to think of Barnes as some sort of angel or genie, but his wish came true and the timing is remarkable.

 

“Didn’t I say not to make me mad?” Barnes sighs. He looks up, at Rollins and Ward, then gestures with the gun in his hand. “I warned him, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Rollins and Ward agree hastily.

 

“So who’s his second?” Barnes asks, pointing the gun casually between the pair of them.

 

Ward immediately points to Rollins, as do half the other guys in the warehouse. Rollins stands up straighter.

 

Barnes smiles, nodding, then fixes the gun on Rollins. “Quit selling your stuff by that school,” he says, like he’s talking to a toddler, “and pay your rent.”

 

Barnes cocks the hammer of his revolver once more. He quits smiling, and Steve can see why he’s the most dangerous man in New York. It’s alluring, like his magnetic aura, and Steve is entranced by the smoke curling off the gun, the lack of concern he has for the man whose brains are slowly seeping out of his head by his feet, the danger of it all. He feels the ghost of Barnes’s mouth on his lips and he wants it more.

 

“Fifteen percent,” Rollins offers.

 

Barnes hums, as though debating it internally. He flips the gun in his palm, much like Romanoff flips her knife. He spins it on a finger, then aims it at Rollins once more, who doesn’t move.

 

“Forty,” Barnes says. “And that’s from all your profits. I’m in a generous mood,” he adds with a condescending smirk.

 

“Fine,” Rollins spits out. “Forty percent.”

 

Barnes gives a nod, then pushes the gun back under his coat. “Glad we understand each other.”

 

He turns away and Romanoff waits for him to pass her before following him, knife flipping through the air before she catches it by the handle and sheathes it under her coat. Steve’s heart is pounding in his ears and Barnes’ hasn’t even _looked_ at him.

 

At the door, Barnes abruptly pauses. Steve take in a hopeful breath, though he doesn't dare move. Barnes turns back, snapping his fingers like he's just remembered something, and Rollins stands a little straighter.

 

“One more thing,” Barnes says. He strides back in, tapping his chin with a speculative look on his face. “I’m thinking… Fridays.”

 

“Fridays?” Rollins repeats. He and Ward exchange confused glances. Steve frowns a little.

 

Barnes simply nods. "Fridays," he repeats. He drops his hand, then points off to the side. “I want his Friday nights.”

 

His index finger, somewhat blackened by gunshot residue, is pointing directly at Steve. Darcy slowly uncovers her open mouth. Steve’s heart skips a beat.

 

“Friday’s his best night,” Rollins tries to argue. “Sundays.”

 

“I said Fridays,” Barnes says easily.

 

Steve opens his mouth, maybe to say Barnes can have him on any night of the week he wants because he's in charge of his own schedule, but Rollins is already nodding and Steve doesn’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

 

“Fine,” Rollins agrees reluctantly. “You can have him on Fridays.”

 

“Good,” Barnes says. He still hasn’t even looked at Steve. “Eight o’clock. You know where I live. See he gets there.”

 

Then, he finally leaves. When the door bangs shut again, Rollins runs over to Rumlow’s fallen body and rolls him onto his back. He covers his mouth and gags slightly, then straightens up and steps away.

 

Rumlow is very plainly dead, there is more blood pooled under where his face lay than Steve has ever seen in his life and already his skin is turning cocaine white. The blood slowly seeps across the floor, like an affectation of roses blooming in time-lapse on the dusty concrete. 

 

“Shit,” Rollins breathes into the silence left by James Barnes’s wake. “ _Shit._ ”

 

Steve sucks in a hard breath. Darcy gapes at him. He can’t devote any more thought to Rumlow’s murder, his mind is again consumed by Barnes ordering his Friday nights and not even _looking_ at him.

 

He’s glad he’s wearing Darcy’s clothes, because they’re baggy on him and hide the fact that he's gotten hard. He’s way too into this. The man just _shot_ Steve’s boss. For no apparent reason. Barnes just flat out murdered Rumlow, Steve has known him since _high school,_ and he can’t even think about that, he’s too focused on the thrum of his blood in his veins. He’s way too into Barnes.

 

“Girls, get out,” Rollins snaps as he gestures to the gathered hookers; he includes Steve in _girls_ and Steve is used to it by then. “I don’t even know why he called you here," Rollins says, "just get out.”

 

They don’t need to be told twice. They practically flee the warehouse, which now is reeking of blood. Steve gets back into Darcy’s car and now it’s Darcy who lets out a hysterical laugh.

 

“You’re doomed!” she gasps. “Oh my god, you’re doomed.”

 

“I’m into it,” Steve mutters.

 

Darcy gapes a little longer at him. “You kinky bastard,” she forces out.

 

Steve smiles a little, sweeping his tongue over his teeth in anticipation already, the metal bar clacking against his teeth. He’s _way_ too into this.

 

He’s now consumed by a different thought. It’s Saturday. He’s got almost a week before he’ll see Barnes again.

 

He goes back to Darcy’s apartment to get his stuff and his car, then drives himself home with the now 11 hundred dollars tucked into a pocket of it. He shoves it into a coffee can to give to his landlord later, and the thought of a landlord makes a thrill run over him, because what if this building’s owned by the Seyrbakov family, too?

 

Then he takes a shower and jerks off fantasizing about what Barnes might be planning to do to him on Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _oh look rumlow lasted a whole ass five minutes, tsk tsk, sorry about that, brock. and can we get some praise for chaos my most amazing artist who spent actual blood sweat and tears (i'm exaggerating it's my thing) creating the art to go with this story? round of applause for chaos everyone, we stan a Boss Ass Artist. if you thought you recognized her style, you might've seen the art she did for my other fic edges blurred for no reason other than she wanted to! it killed me, i'm posting this from the afterlife. chaos is my favorite duckling and you should all go follow her tumblr._
> 
>  
> 
> _it is time for acknowledgments. thanks to the mods of Captain America Big Bang for all that they've done and making it possible for us fic writers and artists to motivate ourselves into creating content. thanks to the CA Big Bang slack community for being so amazing and supportive, y'all made it a wild ride. thanks to chaos for existing and being wonderful, ily. last, thanks to my long-suffering beta_[lexi](http://thicchaco.tumblr.com) for putting up with this long ass mess and me in general ily2.  
>  and thanks to y'all for reading this bc i spent too much damn energy on what's basically a porn with plot fic. lexi described this fic as "whoops, feelings" and she's not wrong. ily y'all. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _please consider commenting and leaving a kudos or maybe even saying hi on tumblr it's our lifeblood. i'll see you! yes, you, becky with the good hair, again later. if you're reading this in the future and all the chapters have been posted already, i'll see you when you hit next chapter okay bye now._
> 
>  
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	2. yes, sir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _and i'm back! thank you so much for the great reception for chapter one and i hope you enjoy this one! now is when i come through on that porn with feelings thing, so hold onto your seats._

#  _yes, sir_

 

The week passes agonizingly slowly and heart-racingly fast at the same time. Sunday has him passed out half the day and avoiding doing the laundry he should be doing the rest of it. Monday takes him to his local health center for his birth control shot and STD testing. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, he works. But Friday night comes, and Steve dresses himself with twice the care of normal. He wears black jeans that are nearly painted on with rips in the thighs, a long-sleeved crop top with a crushed velvet texture, and a studded leather choker on his neck. He gets his nails done in the morning instead of painting them himself. He wears 24-hour dark red lipstick, like oxygenated blood, cubic zirconia earrings in his lobes and a stud that matches his choker in the cartilage of his right ear. Lastly, he puts on Barnes’s suit jacket. He looks damn good, and he fully expects Barnes to either rip it off of him or order him to strip the second he walks in the door.

 

Steve’s not sure which of the two options he’d rather have happen. Both make his jeans feel tighter than normal.

 

Rollins has sent one of his lowlifes to pick him up, another Alpha that’s totally unimportant who just nods when Steve approaches and crosses around to get in the car. Steve gets in the front passenger seat and props his boots up on the dashboard, tapping his sharp red nails, like oxygenated blood, on cracked faux leather details of the door. The lowlife glares at Steve's boots on the dash, but says nothing as he puts the car in gear. Steve listens to music on his phone and watches traffic as they make their way uptown. His heart is thudding his chest.

 

Half an hour later, the lowlife stops outside an apartment building on Park Avenue that looks the rent on a closet would be more expensive than the entirety of Steve’s life value. Steve doesn’t glance once at his driver before getting out and striding up to the door.

 

There’s a doorman, because of course there is. Not to mention the two muscled goons in suits standing outside with the distinct but subtle bulges of guns under their jackets as they flank the doors.

 

“Your name, sir?” the doorman asks, looking Steve up and down with a calculated look.

 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve answers, tapping his nails against his thigh impatiently.

 

The man checks a list, then opens the door. Steve strides past and looks around the lobby of the building. Everything is marble. There's a crystal chandelier. The rent on a closet in this place would probably be twice Steve’s whole life value. 

 

He approaches a receptionist because he doesn’t know what apartment Barnes would be in. The receptionist actually checks his ID before consulting yet another list.

 

“The penthouse floor,” she says. “Mr. Barnes is expecting you.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve replies, flashing her a grin, and heads for the elevator. He should have assumed Barnes would have the penthouse.

 

And there’s an operator for the elevator. Steve tells him he’s going to the penthouse, then his name, and the operator enters a code before pressing the button for the top floor without another word. Steve tucks his hands into the pockets of Barnes’s jacket and hums along with the song on his phone.

 

Barnes is on the ninety-fifth floor. The elevator plays music. Steve’s heart is thudding painfully hard in his chest, and when the elevator dings and stops, it only gets faster.

 

The doors part to reveal an empty foyer. Steve steps out and the doors close behind him on the operator’s bored face.

 

Steve looks around, taking in the room. The floor’s marble here, too, a step down leading to what Steve would normally call a living room but is probably called a parlor for being fancy. The furniture is all black leather and the decor is all shades of white, the room lined in floor-to-ceiling windows and a balcony off to the side. There is a grand piano sitting nearby, a door leading to a kitchen next to him, and a set of stairs leading up.

 

There’s no one there. Steve pulls his hand from the pockets of the jacket and looks through into the kitchen, then steps towards the parlor to peer up at the second floor, wondering what he’s supposed to do. He plays a few notes on the piano and then steps away, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering at nothing. Is he meant to just wait?

 

Faint voices reach his ears. Steve tries to make out what they’re saying, but they’re too distant. He exhales, then strides into the parlor and drops into a chair, putting his boots up and making himself at home to wait.

 

Half an hour goes by. Steve spends it scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, lounging on Barnes’s expensive furniture like he belongs there. An entire half hour goes by, then he finally hears footsteps and the voices drawing nearer. Steve keeps his gaze fixed on his phone.

 

“...No, I want it in Beijing by next week. Do I have to tell you again? Beijing by next week, or you’re fired.”

 

The voice cuts off. A woman chuckles.

 

“Shuddup, Natasha,” Barnes growls. Steve feels his toes curl a little on their own.

 

Barnes and Romanoff appear at the balcony of the second floor. Steve focuses on his phone. He hears Romanoff chuckle again, then a faint whisper and footsteps on the stairs. The elevator rolls to life, then dings a minute later before going down again. Steve props his elbow on the chair to lean his head onto his fist, staring at his phone but not seeing.

 

Barnes’s legs and torso appear in the corner of his eye. He’s dressed casually for a celebrity mob boss, Steve thinks. He wears black slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loose around his neck, a Rolex glinting on his left wrist and platinum rings lining his fingers. Then Barnes tugs the phone from his hand.

 

“Hey!” Steve protests, finally looking up.

 

Barnes tucks Steve’s phone into his pocket. His expression looking down at Steve is predatory. Steve swallows without meaning to.

 

“Get up,” Barnes orders.

 

Steve stands.

 

Barnes beckons him forward and Steve steps toward him, only for Barnes to duck around him and circle him, like a carrion bird examining its next meal. Steve keeps his gaze level while Barnes circles him, feeling like a shrew under the eye of a raven, until Barnes stops in front of him once more. Steve can’t decide whether he likes this feeling or not.

 

“I figured you’d want your jacket back,” he says to hide his discomfort/arousal. He plucks the lapel and lets it slip a little off his shoulder.

 

“You’re right,” Barnes says simply. “Take it off.”

 

Steve pulls it off his shoulders, folds it in half, then holds it out to Barnes. Barnes waves a hand at the sectional leather sofa behind him and Steve tosses it aside.

 

“Go upstairs,” Barnes orders him again. Steve shivers a little. “There are three doors, go through the center one.”

 

With that, Barnes walks off. Steve watches him go, jaw slightly slack, and instead of going upstairs like he’d been told, follows him.

 

Barnes glances back at him, then stops and turns around to face him. “I said go upstairs,” he repeats. Then waves a hand, shooing him away, as though Steve’s bothering him. “Go.”

 

Steve raises his eyebrows, but Barnes turns back around, again ignoring him. Steve hates being ignored. He crosses his arms and stands in the doorway. Barnes opens the fridge and looks into it for a minute, then pulls out a takeout container and heads for a counter. He pulls out a plate, a fork, goes to the island counter and sets them down. Only then does he look up, seeing Steve still standing in the doorway.

 

“I don’t like repeating myself,” Barnes snaps. “Go. Up. Stairs.”

 

Steve’s blood surges southward but he stays stubbornly where he is. He wants to know how far Barnes will go with this act, and how much he can piss him off before it gets too far. “I don’t like being ignored,” he says.

 

Barnes tightens his grip on his fork, tightening his jaw. For a moment, Steve panics and thinks that this is it, this is how he’s going to die, because he was acting like a brat and pissed off the head of a Russian crime syndicate. Then Barnes sets down what’s in his hands and strides forward. He grabs Steve by the jaw and tilts his head back forcibly so Steve has no choice but to look Barnes in the eye. Though, Steve gives little resistance.

 

“Here’s how this is going to go,” Barnes says, voice quiet and dangerous and Steve is _way_ too into this. “You’re going to listen to me, you little punk. Don’t listen one more time and I will make you regret it. Am I clear?”

 

Steve blinks. He doesn’t know if the shiver that goes through him is fear or excitement.

 

“We’ll talk rules upstairs,” Barnes adds, as though unconcerned by them already. “But for now, remember. I don’t like repeating myself.”

 

Steve sweeps his tongue over his lower lip, adding a little gloss to the matte of his lipstick, and Barnes’s gaze drops to his mouth.

 

“I don’t like being ignored,” Steve says again, then jerks his jaw out of Barnes’s grip and turns on his heel. There are windows spanning the parlor, and he can see Barnes watching him march off with a dark gaze. On the stairs, Steve smiles to himself.

 

He takes the middle of the three doors and steps into what has to be Barnes’s bedroom. The room is paneled in windows, heavy drapes hanging at every interval but pulled open. A low bed stands in the middle of the room, with no other furniture taking up space in the center. A long dresser sits directly to the left of the door, a massive wardrobe flanking it on the next wall, and between it and the windows, a set of French doors is shut. Another set of French doors stand open to the right of him, showing a marble bathroom. Steve considers the room, then sits down on the bed and lies back, folding his arms under his head. He hasn’t been told to strip, so he does absolutely nothing.

 

He wishes he still had his phone though. Ten minutes go by, and Steve’s still waiting. He remembers the takeout container Barnes had taken from the fridge and glowers at the ceiling. First the lack of a welcome, now Barnes is eating dinner and Steve’s lying here, bored out of his skull, having to wait for him to finish. He hates being made to wait.

 

But he waits. Another twenty minutes pass, and he hears footsteps on the stairs. Steve remains where he is, sprawled across Barnes’s bed like he belongs there. The door opens, then closes again, and Steve doesn’t move. A weight presses down on the mattress beside him and a hand lands on his knee.

 

“Good boy,” Barnes murmurs. Steve sucks in a breath. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Depending on how tonight goes, I might have you quit working for Brass Fang.”

 

Steve jerks his eyebrows up, but he still doesn’t move.

 

“How are you with commands?”

 

“If you’re planning to use your Alpha voice,” Steve snaps, “I’m leaving.”

 

He is definitely not into having his choice in anything being taken away from him by some dick who thinks that, by nature of being an Alpha, he can bend any Omega to his will. Steve doesn’t even know _why_ the Alpha voice exists, because the only time he’s ever seen it used or had it used on him, it was to force someone to do something they didn’t want to.

 

“Not what I meant.”

 

Barnes’s hand pushes up his leg. Steve feels it cup his crotch, then drift up to slide under his shirt. A thumb brushes the piercing in his navel.

 

“How are you at obedience?”

 

“Fucking terrible,” Steve answers.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Steve sits up before he even realizes what he’s doing. Barnes pulls the hand from his stomach and cups his jaw. He looks at his mouth, not his eyes.

 

“You seem alright with it,” Barnes remarks. Steve feels a hot flush appear on his neck. “Now, how are you with submission?”

 

Steve lifts his chin, but Barnes clucks his tongue disappointedly. Steve swallows, remembering what had happened the last time Barnes tutted at someone, but Barnes only grips his jaw and pulls him forward, so that Steve has to throw his hands out and catch himself from falling onto the bed.

 

“You gotta submit in your head, doll,” Barnes warns him.

 

“I can do that,” Steve mutters. He hadn’t realized that _that_ was what Barnes wanted, but he can do that no problem.

 

Barnes tilts his head, but he’s still looking at his mouth. “We’ll see,” he says.

 

He drops his chin and Steve tips forward a little, but catches himself on the bed as Barnes rises to his feet. Barnes’s fingers go to his fly and Steve already knows what’s about to happen.

 

“Do you have a safe word?” Barnes asks, releasing his belt.

 

“Nope,” Steve answers simply; he doesn't need one, not in his line of work.

 

“I’ll have to talk with Rollins about how to treat his employees,” Barnes says with a sigh. “If you can talk, say Brooklyn to stop or Jersey to slow down. If you can’t, tap your hand three times. Hear?”

 

“I hear,” Steve answers.

 

He’s not looking Barnes in the eye, either. He sweeps his tongue over his lips, already anticipating what’s about to happen. He’s seen the pull of Barnes’s clothes over his body, the ropes of his biceps, and no man who’s that built has anything but something mouthwatering in his drawers. It just wouldn’t be proportional.

 

Barnes’s hand stills on his fly. Then he reaches out and cups Steve’s cheek, humming the way he does when he’s thinking.

 

“You like sucking cock, don’t you?” he says casually.

 

“Love it,” Steve answers.

 

Barnes zips his fly again and Steve lets out a little breath of disappointment. “We’ll save that for later, then. Stand up.”

 

Steve pouts, but climbs off the bed. Barnes, instead, sits on it and lies down, tucking his arms behind his head. He nods to Steve, to his body.

 

“Put on a show for me,” he says. “And maybe when you’re done, I’ll let you suck my cock.”

 

“Shouldn’t I be in your lap for this?” Steve asks, lifting a let to unlace his boot without looking to show off his balance.

 

Barnes hums once more. “Nah,” he says, dropping a hand onto his thigh. “We’ll get there.”

 

Steve makes a disgruntled face and Barnes raises his eyebrows. “Don’t talk back to me,” he says.

 

“I didn’t say anything!” Steve claims.

 

“You were thinking it,” Barnes says. Then he snaps his fingers. “Go on.”

 

Steve tugs off his boot and sock at the same time, then switches legs. “What do I call you?” he says. There’s not really a way he can make taking his shoes off sexy, anyway. “Other than just Barnes.”

 

“What do you want to call me?” Barnes counters.

 

“James?” Steve suggests.

 

“Don’t call me James,” Barnes says with a downward lilt to his lips. “My name’s Bucky.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve repeats carefully, rounding out the whole word and letting his voice turn breathy. “Bucky… Bit of a mouthful. I might have trouble getting it out when you’re fucking me through the mattress.”

 

Bucky’s eyes darken and Steve grins. He kicks aside his boots and steps back, farther out of Bucky’s reach, to bend at the waist and run his hands up his own legs. He straightens slowly, pushing his palms up his sides to drag the hem of his shirt up and expose his navel, but lets the shirt fall again to run his palms over his neck and into his hair. He’s putting on a show, after all.

 

“What about _sir?_ ” Steve suggests. “Since you seem to like ordering me around.”

 

“You can call me that,” Bucky agrees, his tone unaffected but a tent steadily pitching itself in his pants. Steve smiles, pleased. “Get a move on.”

 

“I’m putting on a show, aren’t I?” Steve says, then turns around, putting his back to Bucky. He grips the back of his shirt by the neck and pulls it up, slowly, dragging it over his back. He glances over his shoulder and finds Bucky pressing his palm to the front of his slacks, then looks away again with a grin. Steve lifts the shirt over his head, revealing a black lace bralette. He hasn’t got any chest to fill it out, he’s no girl, but it’s usually a nice surprise for his clients to find him in. He hadn’t been sure what sort of things Barnes would be into, so he isn’t wearing matching panties under his jeans, just a simple pair of black briefs.

 

“Am I doing good?” he asks over his shoulders. He drops the shirt onto the ground and runs his palms back down his sides to push them into the back pockets of his jeans.

 

“So far,” Bucky answers casually.

 

Steve gives a thoughtful hum, then pushes down on the back of his jeans so that the waistband of his underwear is exposed, before pulling his hands away to turn around again.

 

Now Bucky’s unzipped his fly. Steve gives a grin, catching the strap of the bralette with a thumb and tugging on it, letting it snap back a second later. “Hey there, handsome,” he purrs, not looking at Bucky’s face. “Seems like I’m doing great to me, sir.”

 

“Yet you’re still dressed,” Bucky complains with a flick of his wrist. He raises his eyebrows and waves with his other hand for Steve to hurry up. Steve only smiles and drops a hand to hook a thumb through a belt loop. He tugs down, revealing the jut of his hips, then reaches for the snap of his jeans.

 

“Is it a show if I just take it all off right away?” he questions, thumbing the button open.

 

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind,” Bucky says.

 

Steve steps back. “Nope. I’m putting on a show, here. Just sit back and watch.”

The something predatory flashes in Bucky’s eyes and Steve grins in response. He grips the zipper of his fly, then tugs it down tooth by tooth, and once it’s released, he lets it hang open to push his palms back up his stomach, tucking his fingers under the bralette. Bucky begins to move his hand faster and Steve slows. Bucky gives a soft growl, but it only makes Steve grin wider and inch the bralette up slower. Just before the hem reaches his nipples, Steve drops his hands to his jeans again.

 

“You’re going to come before I even get my mouth on you if _you_ don’t slow down,” Steve says, and Bucky speeds his hand up anyway. “Oh, don’t be like that. Don’t you want to come on my face?”

 

“You’re not gonna get it if you don’t get naked,” Bucky warns.

 

Steve flicks his eyebrows up, then pushes his jeans down an inch. “Isn’t this about what you want? Don’t you want my mouth on you? Don’t you want to see if I exceed your expectations?”

 

“You’ve already exceeded them,” Bucky says, and Steve beams instantly. “But now you’re making me impatient. Strip and get on your knees.”

 

Steve grins wider, because that’s exactly what he wanted to happen, and shoves both his jeans and his briefs off his legs. Bucky stands up as Steve yanks the bralette over his head and finally drops to his knees. Bucky pushes a hand into his hair and Steve licks his lips, not looking Barnes in the face, his mouth watering. He was definitely right about Bucky’s proportions.

 

“Do I need a condom for you to blow me?” Bucky asks calmly.

 

“My mouth is clean,” Steve answers, then raises an eyebrow. “Are you?”

 

“I’m clean,” Bucky says, then starts twisting Steve’s hair around his fingers. “If you want, you can see my last tests.”

 

Steve hums, then tilts his head to the side and gives him a once-over, now looking with a critical eye and not an appreciative one. Sure, there are plenty of diseases that he won’t be able to detect on sight alone, but he’s gotten pretty good at spotting external symptoms on the more common ones. With typical clients, he always requires a condom no matter what they're doing, but Barnes is not a typical client. Besides, Barnes doesn’t have any reason to lie to him about this sort of thing.

 

“I’ll have to insist you use a condom when you fuck me,” Steve tells him, “but I don’t think you need one now.”

 

“I wasn’t planning on fucking you without a condom,” Bucky replies flatly. “How are you with hair pulling?”

 

“Right into it, huh?” Steve says, grinning up at him. “Yank all you like.”

 

“Do you enjoy it?” Bucky counters.

 

“If you’re not half-assing it,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows, then he slowly and deliberately tightens his grip on Steve’s hair.

 

“You don’t do so well with obeying,” he remarks. Steve looks up at him through his lashes and pointedly parts his lips, but Bucky doesn’t let him get what he wants just yet. “But funny enough, that’s what I like.”

 

He presses forward and Steve’s eyes shut on instinct as he moans around the new weight, rich and warm taste on his tongue. If Barnes _looks_ good, then he tastes even better. Bucky’s hand tightens steadily in his hair, almost enough to hurt, and enough to control how this happens.

 

“I like breaking down stubbornness,” Bucky says, and his tone is still so steady, so level, as if Steve isn’t swallowing him whole. “It makes the submittal so much sweeter, y’know?”

 

Steve only moans, his mouth too full to speak.

 

“So, here’s what I want from you,” Bucky goes on, pulling Steve’s head back before shoving his face farther in. Steve’s nose presses into the line of his hip under his slacks and the sudden restriction of oxygen only makes him want this more. “I want someone to keep my lap warm when I want it, but I’m not interested in working on a relationship. I don’t have time and frankly, I don’t have the patience for it. I don’t give a shit about Brass Fang. I want you.”

 

Steve’s toes curl and he reaches for himself on instinct. That Barnes sought him out, inserted himself into the business of another gang just to get to him, that’s fucking hot.

 

“None of that,” Bucky says too easily. Steve half whines, the noise dispersed by the obstruction of his mouth. “Rule one. You don’t touch yourself unless I say so.”

 

Steve is way too into this. He grabs the front of Bucky’s slacks, digging his nails like bloody claws into the expensive fabric just to keep them still.

 

“Rule two, you don’t come unless I say so.”

 

Steve’s played around with orgasm denial before and he has a love/hate relationship with it. The thought of Bucky commanding him to come, though, that sends a thrill down his spine.

 

“Tap your hand on my thigh once if you’re fine with that, twice if you’re not.”

 

Steve raises his hand taps Barnes’s thigh once, then digs his nails into his leg.

 

Barnes pulls on his hair again and Steve follows his lead, sucking in air before Barnes reels him back in.

 

“Tap your hand once if this is fine,” Barnes adds, as though an afterthought.

 

Steve taps his hand once enthusiastically.

 

“Good,” Barnes says, and Steve doesn’t hold back the groan he makes at the praise. “You’re being such a good boy, here, Stevie. You want me to come all over your face? You want to lick it up, like a little slut?”

 

Steve taps his hand again, raising both to frame Bucky’s hips and dig his nails, the color of oxygenated blood, into his thighs.

 

“Are you fine if I call you a slut?”

 

Steve taps his hand again. Barnes shoves his face in farther and Steve drinks in a breath through his nose, taking in Bucky’s scent and getting dizzy from it while he can.

 

“Good,” Barnes repeats, and now his tone turns to the molten chocolate Steve was craving. “You got one hell of a mouth on you, baby. I’m liking that tongue piercing.”

 

Steve intentionally curls his tongue and Barnes lets out a quiet exhale as the metal scraps his skin. Steve is practically purring when he ought to be breathing.

 

“You take cock like you were born for it,” Barnes says, and his other hand reaches out to brush the crest of Steve’s cheek. “I hope you cleaned yourself well before you came over. Next time, I want you to come wearing a plug so I don’t have to prep you at all.”

 

Steve nods, to both statements, and he’s already clenching down on nothing but the thought of walking into Bucky’s penthouse ready for him to just slide home.

 

“Very good, baby,” Bucky praises lightly, then lifts his head to cant his hips into Steve’s mouth, a smile finally curling his lip. “This is easier than I’d thought it’d be. You’re not known for your compliance.”

 

Steve only hums and digs his nose into the line of Bucky’s torso, because he is right, Steve normally spends more time teasing his clients. But Bucky’s got the best cock he’s ever laid eyes on or gotten his mouth on, and to be honest, Steve hasn’t got the patience to tease either. He wants this, has wanted it since the moment Barnes strode into Brass Fang’s illegal bare-knuckle brawl, and he wants it bad.

 

“That’s why I picked you,” Bucky says, his voice getting rougher and Steve’s loving this. “I thought you’d be hard to get.”

 

Steve looks up and Bucky tightens his grip.

 

“It’s not a bad thing,” he promises, lip curling at the corner. “Like I said, you take cock like a champ.”

 

He thrusts hard into Steve’s mouth, Steve half chokes and just swallows deeper, then Bucky yanks out and does just what Steve asked for. He comes hard over Steve’s face.

 

Bucky drops his hand to caress his cheek and Steve licks his lips clean. Bucky smiles, predatory, then scoops come off Steve's cheek and holds it to his lips. Steve licks it clean, too.

 

“Are you likin’ your reward, baby?” Bucky asks, and his voice sounds absolutely fucked.

 

“Thrilled,” Steve says. His voice sounds just as bad. And he is thrilled; the wrecked lilt to James Barnes’s voice, a blissful tone that Steve put there, is adrenaline-inducing. Barnes is known to be a hard man to please, and there’s nothing Steve enjoys more than a challenge.

 

“Very good, Stevie,” Bucky says, almost a purr himself, then grasps his jaw and pulls up. Steve stands, closing his eyes, and Bucky crashes their lips together harshly. Bucky forces his tongue into Steve’s mouth, fucks his mouth again with it, and leaves Steve trembling at the knees.

 

His asscheeks are wet with slick, and when Bucky pulls back, his eyes shut and he inhales sharply, as though to relish the scent of Steve’s arousal. Steve’s head is spinning. Bucky grasps him by the hips, lifts him easily off the ground, then turns him around and tosses him onto the bed. Steve lifts his arms over his head, raising a knee and letting his other leg fall off the edge of the bed, and grins while Bucky begins to slip free the buttons of his shirt.

 

“Get that smug look off your face,” Bucky orders, undoing his buttons slowly, teasing Steve with the stretch of his undershirt over his chest.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers, yet he’s still grinning.

 

Bucky flicks an eyebrow upward, unimpressed, but Steve can see the effect he’s having on him already. Again.

 

“Thought you were an old man?” Steve says, looking pointedly not at Bucky’s face. “Didn’t know old men could get hard again so fast.”

 

“I’m thirty-eight,” Bucky replies blithely.

 

Steve mimicks him, and tuts disappointedly. “That is old. That’s a whole fifteen years older than me.”

 

Bucky quits unbuttoning his shirt. “How old are you?” he asks, and Steve pouts because there’s no heat to it.

 

“Twenty-three,” he answers. “Honest.”

 

“Twenty-three,” Bucky repeats, then abruptly he’s scowling. “You been on Brass Fang’s payroll at least five years. You started working with them at eighteen?”

 

“Seventeen,” Steve corrects. Bucky’s scowl goes from annoyed to pissed and Steve sits up. “What?”

 

“You’re fucking telling me John Garrett was hiring underage Omegas?” Bucky demands.

 

“I was almost eighteen,” Steve says to answer, rolling his eyes, even though it’s not very true, he was five months short of eighteen, and it was less that Garrett hired him than brought him into the fold. “It’s not a big deal –”

 

“That is a massive deal,” Bucky interrupts, snarling. Steve sits back, leaning on his elbows, and tries to work out if he should try to calm Barnes down or just let him rant for a minute. “Tell me Rumlow wasn’t hiring kids. Tell me _Rollins_ isn’t keeping kids.”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve says, now getting annoyed himself because he thought he was about to get thoroughly dicked and he’s currently not even remotely being touched. “We don’t talk our ages, ‘specially if we’re underage.”

 

He sits up and hooks a finger into a gap between buttons in Bucky’s shirt. “Rant later. Fuck me now.”

 

Bucky still looks pissed, so Steve falls back, yanking on his shirt, and causes him to stumble, off balance, and catch himself on the bed. Now he still looks pissed, but in a different way. He ducks his head and kisses him, hard and merciless, while Steve curls his arms around the back of his neck and lifts his knees past his hips. Bucky yanks their lips apart and mouths down his neck, biting along the way. He’s not even out of his clothes yet.

 

“Now you’re in trouble,” Bucky growls.

 

“I’m into that,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky bites into his shoulder and Steve yelps, but it’s quickly turned into a moan.

 

“What are you not into?” Bucky asks. He sits up abruptly, settling back on his calves and setting his hands to span Steve’s waist.

 

“Alpha voices,” Steve answers immediately.

 

Bucky scowls again. “I’m going to have to discuss many things with Rollins about how to treat his employees.”

 

“And complaining about my boss,” Steve adds flippantly. “Not sexy.”

 

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change. He pushes his palms up to cup Steve’s chest and Steve arcs into the touch, throwing his head back. Bucky runs his hands down over his waist and hips, to his thighs and around his knees to push back up, as if he’s trying to map out the topography of Steve’s body.

 

“You shave your legs, doll?” Bucky asks, his fingers having found the skin of his legs smooth.

 

“Wax. You try wearing nylons with hairy legs,” Steve answers. “Pain in the ass.”

 

Bucky’s lip curls at one corner. “I think I like you this way.”

 

“I’ll keep doing it,” Steve says. Waxing his legs is a pain in the ass, but he loves the smooth glide of Bucky’s palms over his skin.

 

“What are you not willing to do?” Bucky asks then.

 

“Blindfolds,” Steve says, swallowing after he says it to push down the shudder at just thinking about it. “Claustrophobic.”

 

Bucky drops abruptly, trapping Steve between his forearms to loom over him. “This okay?”

 

“Sure,” Steve mumbles. “It’s the dark that I don’t like.”

 

Bucky gives a nod, then leans on one arm to touch him again, palm pressing flat to his flushed skin. “Temperatures?” he asks.

 

“What about ‘em?”

 

“Ice, wax, that sort of thing,” Bucky explains.

 

“Oh,” Steve mumbles. Bucky pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and Steve gasps. “I don’t know. Haven’t done that.”

 

“We’ll see then,” Bucky says. His tone is bored once again, unimpressed, disinterested. Steve’s into it. “Pain?”

 

“You can spank me,” Steve offers, “but only with your hand, no paddles.”

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Do you like it?” he asks flatly.

 

Steve shrugs. “If I deserve it.”

 

Bucky flicks up the other eyebrow. “Do you plan to deserve it?”

 

Steve grins and Bucky looks unimpressed down at him.

 

“If I want to,” Steve says gleefully, and Bucky pinches his nipple harder. Steve sucks in a breath, his smile growing, and Bucky hums thoughtfully.

 

He bends his mouth over Steve’s chest and closes his lips over his other nipple. Steve exhales a lewd sound as Bucky bites down lightly.

 

“You like this,” Bucky says, all in that thoughtful, vaguely disinterested tone. “Good to know.”

 

“Thought I was supposed to be pleasing you?” Steve whispers, but he doesn’t give a shit anymore. He’s had Bucky’s cock in his mouth and now he wants it in his ass; he doesn’t care how Bucky goes about getting there.

 

“This is pleasing me,” Bucky says matter-of-factly. “I’m going to make you writhe until you’re begging, then I’m going to jerk off onto your chest.”

 

“Hey, I thought you were gonna fuck me?” Steve whines. 

 

Bucky tuts faintly. “Good boys get what they want,” he says and Steve feels his entire body shiver at his phrasing. “Little shits don’t get to come,” Bucky concludes.

 

“Kinky,” Steve says, because he’s a little shit.

 

Bucky’s face is impassive as he sits up once more. He flicks the buttons of his shirt open, then tugs the tails from his slacks and tosses it aside. Steve props himself up on his elbows, watching Bucky's muscles flex through his undershirt, then Bucky yanks that over his head and it goes the same way as the dress shirt. Steve flat out whimpers.

 

Bucky smirks and flexes intentionally; his biceps bulge and his pecs pop, his abs tighten and veins show in his forearms. Steve reaches out to touch, but Bucky grabs his hands and pins them above his head.

 

“What’d I say?” he growls. “You don’t get what you want until you obey.”

 

“Don’t sinners have more fun?” Steve asks breathily. He wants to get his mouth on Bucky’s abs. He wants to lick the sweat from the crevices of his eight pack. Bucky is fucking _ripped_ on top of being hung like a horse.

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. He’s still unimpressed. Steve is still a sucker for a challenge.

 

So he writhes a little under him, hooking his legs over Bucky’s thighs and lifting his hips towards Bucky’s still open fly. Bucky changes his grip, pins his wrists with one hand, then grabs him by the hip and yanks him forward. Steve moans again, louder than necessary, pushing his ass as far against him as possible. Bucky wants him to writhe, he’ll writhe.

 

Yet Bucky doesn’t seem affected by Steve’s performance. He palms the top of his thigh, shifting his hand in, then presses a finger into the wet mess between his legs. Steve lets out a more genuine gasp, and Bucky teases him for an agonizingly long moment before slowly pushing in.

 

“You’re very good at putting on a show,” Bucky announces. “But I’m not interested in false efforts, doll.”

 

“Does it feel false?” Steve asks, pressing into his hand. With some difficulty. He meant it when he said it might be hard for him to get the whole word _Bucky_ out when he’s got something up his ass. His brain starts short-circuiting and consonants become difficult.

 

Bucky rolls his finger and Steve pushes against him again. “No, but the body can do one thing while the head does another. You’re going to have to mean it, sweet thing.”

 

Bucky adds another finger before Steve can try and work out what he means by _mean it._

 

“What else are you not willing to do?”

 

“Think when you’re fingering me,” Steve spits out. Bucky crooks a finger and he gasps, throwing his head back into the bed to swear loudly. Bucky lets go of his wrists and his flat palm slides up to his exposed throat.

 

“This okay?” Bucky asks. For once, he sounds like he cares about Steve’s answer.

 

Steve swallows and feels it where Bucky’s palm presses to his throat. “Yes,” he whispers.

 

Bucky’s fingers close over his throat, not squeezing, just holding. Steve’s breath is punching in and out of his lungs, his heart is kicking well over a hundred beats per minute, and he’s never felt more alive.

 

Bucky hasn’t even added a third finger.

 

“This is what I mean, Stevie,” Bucky says, and his tone has gone unconcerned again. He squeezes his fingertips, not putting pressure on his airway, but giving the illusion of it. “Surrender.”

 

Steve swallows again, feeling like his tongue is too heavy in the back of his mouth, and Bucky’s lips curl predatorily. He is a shrew under the eye of a raven, and by now, Steve has figured out how he feels about it.

 

He likes it.

 

“When I ask you a question, I want an answer,” Bucky tells him, a touch of command entering his tone. Not an Alpha tone, not requiring Steve be bent to his will. An order, with an underlying promise of reward.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve whispers. He likes rewards.

 

Bucky’s predatory smile grows. “If I want to tie you up with ropes, will you be fine with it?”

 

“Dunno,” Steve says. “Haven’t tried that, either.”

 

“What about cuffs?” Bucky questions.

 

Steve shrugs. “Used ‘em on someone else before," he says. "Not on me.”

 

“What about danger play?” Bucky presses.

 

Bucky carefully squeezes his throat again, but at the same time inserts a third finger to press directly onto a good spot. Steve jolts and gasps, lifting his body off the bed, and Bucky holds him down by his throat.

 

“If this is it, then fuck yes,” Steve says, twice as clearly as he would have expected.

 

“Hmm, not quite," Bucky answers. "But I’ll keep this in mind.”

 

His fingers further their reach, going knuckle-deep, and it’s amazing but not enough.

 

“Please,” Steve gasps, “please – just – more –”

 

“More what?”

 

“ _More,_ ” Steve breathes.

 

Bucky crooks his fingers once more, tapping deep and Steve sighs another exhale of _more._

 

“Do you see what I meant?” Bucky asks. Steve loves the put-together aura of his calm tone and the contrast of the heavy, hot weight between his legs where they rest on Bucky’s thighs. “You’re already begging.”

 

“God,” Steve exhales, “you’re – I can’t – I need –”

 

“No,” Bucky cuts him off, “you don’t _need_ anything. You want it.”

 

“Gimme another, please, I need –”

 

Bucky shifts and Steve feels the heavy weight pressing closer. He whines, low and desperate, and tries to push into it, but Bucky doesn’t remove his fingers or release his throat.

 

“I asked you a question, doll,” Bucky says.

 

Steve swallows and tries to think.

 

“I’m not repeating myself,” Bucky adds. He presses in deeper and Steve can’t think. “What’d I ask?”

 

“I –" Steve starts, but he can't think back. "I don' know –”

 

Bucky clucks his tongue in disappointment. Then, making Steve gasp, he _removes_ a finger.

 

“No," Steve gasps, startled and confused, "no, please, I need –”

 

“You don’t need anything,” Bucky snaps. Now only two fingers crook and Steve’s definitely and genuinely writhing. “What did I ask you?”

 

Steve whimpers low, in a way that Alphas usually can’t resist, but Bucky doesn’t give him what he wants. He even slows his fingers, taking sensation from him and Steve’s breath hitches on the lack of it.

 

“I don’t remember,” Steve mumbles, “please –”

 

Bucky sighs again, and removes another finger. Steve realizes that his eyes are closed but can’t bring himself to open them again, and with Bucky’s index finger still pushing deeper, he feels like he’s gaping and dripping.

 

“Do you understand what I meant about surrender?” Bucky says.

 

“No,” Steve says, then adds a half-hearted: “Fuck you.”

 

Bucky grips his throat again, and yanks the only finger remaining free. Steve’s eyes fly open as he clenches down on nothing and gasps, but Bucky’s throwing his legs to the bed and rising up to tower over him.

 

“I said I’d get you writhing and begging,” Bucky snaps, “and then I’d jerk off over your chest.”

 

“Please,” Steve begs, hoping it’ll get Bucky’s fingers back, but Bucky keeps his hand to himself.

 

He grabs him by the jaw, forcing him to look him in the eye, and abruptly Steve realizes that he _loves_ being prey under Bucky's predatory eyes. Bucky hovers over him, shadow encompassing him, holds his jaw in place so Steve can’t even look down and watch. All he can do is lie there and beg, but Bucky never touches him but to hold him by the jaw, listening to it and drinking in the tell-tale, heady scent of an Alpha rising to orgasm.

 

Steve writhes, like Bucky had wanted, but never gets what he wants. Bucky never looks away from him and it’s honestly the most erotic thing that Steve’s ever done, and he’s been in this business for six years and counting.

 

Then Bucky drops him and straightens up completely, his eyes glaze over and Steve can watch now, watch as his pleasure comes to a head and explodes. Bucky makes a mess of his chest and Steve jerks, sensitive still from the deprivation of stimulation. He half lifts his hands and Bucky drops to grab his wrists, holding them firmly above his head.

 

“That’s two for me,” Bucky says, and he’s grinning now. Full on grinning, something that makes Steve think of a wolf more than a raven, icy eyes and teeth bared to salivate with hunger, and he wonders if that makes Bucky’s next meal any different. “See how this is about me, now?” Bucky asks him.

 

Steve can hardly breathe, and Bucky’s let go of his throat already.

 

“I want you to be mine to use,” Bucky tells him. “When I see fit. When you please me, you’ll be rewarded.”

 

Steve stops the squirming he didn’t even realize he was doing. That sentence has more gravity to it than Steve would have anticipated.

 

“Are you asking me to be your sub?” he asks.

 

Bucky tilts his head to the side. “That’s a good word for it.”

 

“Are you asking me?” Steve repeats carefully.

 

Bucky’s expression becomes impassive once more. Steve isn’t thinking much about getting fucked anymore, because being somebody’s submissive is a bit more than devoting a Friday night to someone else’s pleasure, and Barnes has the power here. He isn’t sure if it would be safe for him to say _no._  Neither is he sure if he even wants to.

 

“Of course I’m fucking _asking,_ ” Bucky abruptly snarls and sits up. Steve starts a little, confused again. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I _ask_ –”

 

“You’re James Barnes,” Steve interrupts. He stays where he is, sprawled under Bucky’s gaze, still and submissive like he wants.

 

“You can walk out any second you want,” Bucky snaps. “You do not have to do a single fucking _thing_ you don’t want to. Where the fuck did you get the idea that you _have_ to do something you’re uncomfor–”

 

He breaks off. His expressions settles from mad to murderous, but Steve gets the feeling that it’s not aimed at him at all.

 

“Brass Fang doesn’t set boundaries,” Bucky murmurs, as though he's realizing something horrifying. “You don’t have safe words. Guys use their Alpha tones on you. Have people blindfolded you even though you didn’t want them to?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve answers shortly, not getting into details of it. Bucky sets his jaw and gets off the bed. “Hey, c’mon, seriously, I don’t like being ignored!”

 

Bucky zips up his slacks and when Steve scrambles to his knees on the bed, Bucky grabs him by the waist and hauls him in for a harsh kiss.

 

“You want out, walk out whenever you want,” Bucky says firmly. “My driver will take you home and you’ll never hear from me again. I’m not interested in forced consent.”

 

“I am consenting enthusiastically,” Steve insists. “Did I once indicate that I was not up for whatever you wanted from me? I’m only – I don’t know if I wanna be your sub, is all.”

 

“Yeah, I see that,” Bucky retorts. He pushes Steve back onto the bed, then holds out a warning finger. “Wait here.”

 

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” Steve demands as Bucky storms out.

 

“Wait!” Bucky snaps over his shoulder. He slams the door. Steve falls back onto his elbows, staring at the door in complete and utter disbelief. He’d been on his way to what was proving to be some fantastic sex, he hadn’t even been gotten off once and he’s still splattered by Bucky’s cum, and now he’s being made to wait again.

 

Bucky isn’t the only one pissed. Steve _hates_ being ignored.

 

A minute later, he hears a raised, angry voice in the other room. He’s tempted to touch himself, to get _himself_ off while Bucky’s off playing mafia.

 

“...I don’t care, wake ‘im up, I want those books now!”

 

Steve trails a hand down his chest, glaring sullenly at the closed door. Bucky is shouting now.

 

“Get them on something! Fuck, get them on underage solicitation of Omegas, I got a kid here who’s been working the street since he was seventeen!”

 

Steve slows, then stills. He gets up and crosses to the door, opening it a crack.

 

“No, I’m not – I’m putting him on a witness stand!”

 

Steve doesn’t know what’s going on and he isn’t sure he likes this, either.

 

“Fine, drug charges, whatever, I want them off my streets!”

 

He hears a phone slam. Then the impact of something getting kicked and Steve hastens away from the door, jumping back onto the bed and lying back the way Bucky left him just as Bucky bangs the bedroom door back open.

 

“Did you get forced to come here?” Bucky demands.

 

“No,” Steve replies sharply. “I’m not a scared kid, Barnes; I've been working the streets for six years now.”

 

Bucky has his hands on his hips, breathing hard. He isn’t looking at Steve at all.

 

“If you’re going to give me rules, then I’m giving you rules,” Steve snaps.

 

Bucky jerks his gaze to him.

 

“I don’t like being ignored,” Steve says for the fourth time, in a firm and unforgiving tone. “And if you’re going to start somethin’, you’d better finish it. Hear?”

 

Bucky works his jaw, looking murderous still. Steve raises his eyebrows pointedly, then lies back on Bucky’s pillows and lays his legs open on the bed, an invitation.

 

“You get rules,” Bucky snaps. “That’s the whole fucking point of a relationship. Communication, consent, rules.”

 

“You said you didn’t want a relationship,” Steve argues. Bucky looks murderous still, but Steve is pissed.

 

“I said I didn’t want to _work_ on a relationship,” Bucky barks and strides forward. He grabs Steve’s ankles and yanks forward, pulling him down the duvet until his legs are hanging off the mattress. “If I just wanted sex, I would’ve just paid you for your time! I don’t have the time to court an Omega, I want someone to come home to, anyway!”

 

Steve blinks.

 

“You're full of surprises,” he mutters vaguely.

 

Bucky glares down at him, settling his palms on either side of his head. “I said I wanted you,” he growls. “I meant I wanted _you_ to keep me company. But I’m not taking you if you think you don’t have a say in the matter.”

 

“I wanted you the second I saw you in that warehouse,” Steve snaps. “Fucking take me already.”

 

Bucky kisses him again, only now it’s slow as well as rough. Steve grabs Bucky’s hair and parts his knees over Bucky’s thighs, no longer in the mood to play games. He’d been all but promised fantastic sex and he wants it.

 

“Get on your knees, ass up,” Bucky says into his mouth.

 

Bucky releases him and Steve flips over. He stretches his arms forward and pushes his ass into Bucky’s hands, arching his back when Bucky pushes a palm down his spine.

 

“You can decide whenever you want if you want to be mine,” Bucky says above him. “You’ve been patient and put up with my temper, so you’re gonna get what you want tonight. Sound good?”

 

“Fucking excellent,” Steve sighs.

 

“I’m going to take my time. I still want to enjoy myself.”

 

“Fine,” he agrees easily.

 

Bucky’s hands return to his ass and grip his cheeks, kneading firmly. Steve presses into the touch.

 

“How thoroughly did you clean yourself before you came over?” Bucky asks.

 

“Used a douche,” Steve says. “Case you wanted a taste.”

 

“Read my mind,” Bucky murmurs, voice gentler than it had been the entire night.

 

Steve gasps and then moans at the touch of Bucky’s tongue, clenching his fists on the blanket, and Bucky growls into him. His hands dig into Steve’s ass, too gentle to hurt or even bruise lightly, but yet it holds him in place, holds him at Bucky’s mercy. Steve digs his own nails into the duvet, resisting the urge to touch himself and make this even better. After all, if he’s going to hold Bucky to his rules, then he’ll have to respect Bucky’s. So he lets his nails bite into the duvet, presses into Bucky’s face and moans, into the stretch and the burn of his unshaven jaw, back to writhing and begging wordlessly within minutes.

 

“Do you want to come from this?” Bucky asks him, voice _fucked_ again and Steve loves it. “Or do you want my cock?”

 

It’s hard to decide. Both are excellent options; Steve adores having his ass eaten out almost as much as he loves getting fucked like this.

 

Bucky squeezes his ass. “Hurry up and decide, or I’m gonna get impatient again.”

 

“I want your cock,” Steve forces out. He balls his fists into the blankets, squirming under Bucky’s hands, and he wants to get wrecked. He says so, and Bucky chuckles darkly.

 

“I can do that, baby,” he promises. “Think you’re loose enough now or do you need to get opened up some more?”

 

“I want it _now,_ ,” Steve demands.

 

“That’s not what I asked," Bucky insists. "Are you loose enough now or do you need more prep?”

 

As if to prove his point, Bucky trails his fingers up Steve’s thigh and presses two into him. Steve’s eyes fall shut, his breath fleeing his lungs; the stretch is delicious, just on the pleasurable side of too much, just on the unsatisfying side of not enough.

 

“I think you need another minute to loosen up,” Bucky says. His tone has gone level again and Steve can’t believe how fucking sexy he finds Bucky’s vocal indifference, when he can feel the tent in Bucky’s slacks against his thigh. “You feel like a virgin, baby.”

 

“Been years since I got rid of that,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Really?" Bucky asks, tone casual. "Are you just always this tight?”

 

Bucky adds another finger and Steve can only mumble a high pitched _uh-huh_ in answer.

 

“Good to know,” Bucky repeats, like Steve’s telling him about a change in his turf or a shift in mortgage rates. “I can look forward to popping your cherry every time I fuck you.”

 

Steve groans into the mattress. Bucky twists his fingers, a considering hum reaching Steve’s ears, then he adds his pinky and Steve presses his face into the blanket, muffling his loud groan at the stretch.

 

“Lift your head up, baby,” Bucky instructs. “Let me hear you.”

 

Steve picks his face up and drops it onto his forearm. Bucky twists his whole hand and Steve doesn’t muffle the sound that wrenches itself from his throat.

 

“Good,” Bucky purrs, and Steve only moans again. “Look at you. You could probably take my whole fist.”

 

“I want your cock,” Steve spits out.

 

“You want my cock, what?” Bucky pushes him.

 

Bucky slows his hand and Steve swears.

 

“What did you want to call me?” Bucky prompts casually.

 

Steve’s heart, already doing a hundred and sixty, skips a beat.

 

“ _Sir,_ ” Steve sighs. He’d been joking, but exhaling _sir_ actually has him shuddering in anticipation. “I want your cock, _sir._ ”

 

“Good boy,” Bucky praises. He pumps his hand once more, then Steve hears a zipper. A foil packet, the sound of a condom being rolled on. He presses back and Bucky catches his hip, squeezing lightly. “You’re doing so good, baby. You’re gonna get what you want tonight.”

 

Steve cries aloud, Bucky exhales forcefully. Steve half sighs, half moans, and Bucky is still pressing in.

 

“Fuckin’ tight, Stevie,” Bucky growls.

 

“Fuckin’ massive, sir,” Steve slurs. He’s slurring already. Fuck, Bucky hasn’t even started properly yet and he’s losing brain power.

 

Bucky laughs somewhere behind him. Steve half lifts his head off the bed, then cradles it in his arms, his mouth hanging open as Bucky starts out slow. Steve tries to shift, to encourage him to move faster, but Bucky grabs his hips with both hands and holds on tight. Then he yanks Steve backward, his knees almost slipping off the bed, and Steve cries aloud, his vision sparking as Bucky hits a good spot.

 

“There you go,” Bucky says, voice dropping to a purr again, “there’s your G-spot.”

 

“I ain’t a girl,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Is it your sweet spot?” Bucky asks, then nails it again. Steve gasps and presses his forehead down, saliva pooling in gaps between his teeth while his mouth hangs open. “Are you gonna come if I keep hitting it?”

 

Steve only moans.

 

“I asked you a question, baby boy.”

 

“Yes!” he gasps, and _fuck,_  does that name make his toes curl and his eyes roll back.

 

“Yes, what?”

 

“Yes, sir!” Steve gasps out, and, _ooh,_ does that hit the spot. “Yes, sir, oh, yessir –”

 

Bucky hits it again, and again, and again, and Steve’s vision is blacking out.

 

“You wanna come, baby?”

 

“Yessir!” Steve forces out.

 

“Think you’ve earned it yet?” Bucky growls. He’s slamming in and out, hitting that one spot over and over, and Steve’s going to climax whether he’s earned it or not.

 

“I’m gonna come,” he whimpers, “I’m gonna come, sir, I’m gonna –”

 

“What’s rule number two, Stevie?” Bucky asks, tone casual, calm, indifferent, like he’s not making Steve see stars. “Rule number two, baby. What is it?”

 

“Don’t come unless you say so,” Steve says.

 

“Have I said you can come?” Bucky asks. He won’t let up and Steve’s realizing that this time it’s up to him to deny himself his own orgasm.

 

“No, sir,” Steve says, then whimpers, gasps, clenching his fists on the blankets, his nails like oxygenated blood cutting into Bucky’s duvet that’s probably worth every manicure Steve’s ever had in his life and then some. He’s so fucking close and Bucky isn’t letting up.

 

“Do you think you’ve earned it?” Bucky asks him again. “Think you’ve made me happy yet?”

 

“I made y’come twice, sir,” Steve says, no, he whines. He whines it into the bed, slurring with his brain cells clocking out one by one, trying his damnedest not to overflow with pleasure but Bucky won’t stop. “I did what you asked, I put on’a show for you, I sucked your cock, I begged, I’m beggin’, please, please, can I, please?”

 

“Please, what?” Bucky growls. His body folds against Steve’s back and a hand curls around his throat, Bucky’s lips pressing to his shoulder before biting down.

 

“Please, sir!”

 

Steve lifts his head, baring his throat to Bucky’s palm, putting all his weight on his forearms and elbows and Bucky bites dangerously close to his scent gland, triggering a rush of endorphins to Steve’s head that makes him dizzy.

 

“Gotta use your words here, baby boy,” Bucky says and Steve nearly breaks. “You wanna come? You gotta ask.”

 

 _Oh, God,_ Steve thinks. “Please,” he begs, “can I come, sir? Please, sir?”

 

“That’s what I wanna hear,” Bucky murmurs, half a purr and half a growl, “there’s my little cockslut, my cumslut, using your filthy mouth, baby boy, good for more’n just sucking cock. You wanna come?”

 

“I wanna come!” Steve whimpers. “Please, sir, please let me come!”

 

“Come,” Bucky growls.

 

Steve cries aloud, as the second Bucy’s order leaves his lips, he’s breaking, the pleasure Bucky’s slamming into him swells to a crescendo. It sings through his whole body and his mind goes completely offline in the symphony.

 

He collapses with the strain of holding his body up and the power of his orgasm, but Bucky’s arms catch him before he can hit the bed. One arm curls under his chest, the other cradles his hips, and Bucky’s still going, still hitting that spot and Steve’s still coming, until Bucky grunts and stills above him. Steve hangs boneless in his grip, then finds his body being lowered onto the bed’s surface gently. He’s exhausted; nothing has ever made him black out so hard, nor worn such a toll on him. He’s aware of a quiet buzzing, until it becomes the ringing of his ears and Steve sighs to abate the silence.

 

Warm arms and hands wrap around his body. He feels fit to fall asleep. There’s warmth and satisfied pleasure covering his whole self, and given that he’s not being escorted out the door already, Steve decides he’s being permitted to relax for a minute. He’s not going to question it or force himself up into consciousness. He sighs a little again, settling into the warmth, and lets the high ride on into a dream-like state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _well then. i'll see you again tomorrow morning with chapter three, **hungry like the fox**. i hope you enjoyed this and that you'll consider leaving a comment, a kudos, or heading over to tumblr and reblogging [chaos's post of the art from chapter one](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179382932886/barnes-leaves-his-hand-where-its-barely-touching). thank you for reading!_
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	3. hungry like the fox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ayy my battery's at 69% you know what that means_   
>  _jk they don't 69 in this chapter. but there is more smut. i hope you had a good night's rest and you're prepared for this morning's update bc tbh the end of this chapter is one of my absolute favorite things that i've written ever, and that's including that "It's ma dick" line from edges blurred. i won't keep you any longer. on with the show!_

#  _hungry like the fox_

 

Steve feels a breeze passing over his skin, either Bucky’s breath or a window open. Or it’s just his bare skin exposed to the air, cooling on his blood-flushed body.

 

“You’re gonna stay here a while until you’re fit to go home,” Bucky’s voice reaches him. “Or you’re going to spend the night. You can sleep in the guest room or in here, your choice.”

 

“Don’t wanna move,” Steve mumbles.

 

“You’re not moving yet. In an hour.”

 

Steve yawns, then settles back against something warm and firm. “Your knot’ll take that long to go down?” he says, only too blissed out to actually be disbelieving.

 

“It’ll take twenty minutes. You’re going to need that long to come down.”

 

“If you say so,” Steve mumbles. He presses his back into the something warm and firm, feeling the warm and firm extend past his hips to lie over his body. “‘M gonna take a nap.”

 

“Go home or stay here?” Bucky asks again.

 

“Thought I was napping,” Steve grumbles.

 

“You did. It’s been almost twenty minutes.”

 

Steve opens his eyes. He looks around, then sees the arms locked around his waist. He glances over his shoulder and his body is pressed into Bucky’s chest. He has a still clothed leg thrown over Steve’s hip.

 

“‘R’you spooning me?” he says, still slurring his words a bit.

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Yes,” he says frankly.

 

Steve makes a confused noise, then shakes his head and shifts his shoulders to face away from him again. “You’re weird,” he mutters.

 

“Nobody treats you right, do they?”

 

Steve doesn’t have the energy to figure out what _that's_ supposed to mean, so he huffs and ignores it.

 

“Steve,” Bucky says, and he’s reminded that Barnes wants answers.

 

“People don’ pay to treat me nice,” he grumbles. “Do what you want, I don’ care.”

 

Bucky exhales, and even to Steve’s fuzzy mind, he sounds frustrated. He doesn’t know what the hell for, nor does he really care.

 

“I'm going to take a shower,” Bucky says, and Steve jolts awake again.

 

Steve stretches, thinking that that sounds like an excellent idea. “Can I use it after you?” he asks in a mumble.

 

Bucky retracts from his body and the cold abruptly makes Steve shiver. Then his arms push under his back and knees and he’s being lifted into the air again.

 

“You can come with me,” he says, an idea that hadn’t occurred to him, but that Steve thinks sounds even more excellent. He happily slumps against Bucky’s shoulder, hooking his ankles together, as Bucky carries him through to the en-suite bathroom.

 

“Can you stand?” Bucky asks.

 

“‘Course I can stand,” Steve grumbles again, “the fuck am I, a drunk goose?”

 

Bucky snorts. Steve grins dumbly, pleased. But Bucky doesn’t set him on his feet. Instead, he’s placed gently, more gently than Steve would have thought a mob boss would handle him, onto a cool bench. Steve yawns and immediately sprawls onto it, then he hears the sound of water running.

 

He forces one eye open. Bucky is off to the side tossing the last of his clothes away, finally, and Steve is resting on a black marble bench in a massive, rainfall style shower.

 

“Holy shit,” he mutters, opening the other eye. “Can I live here?”

 

Bucky glances at him. “If you want,” he says shortly, and Steve blinks, having meant the shower and not really meant it at all.

 

Bucky walks back over and touches a black tile above Steve's head, and the tile becomes a screen.

 

“You have a TV in your shower?” Steve gasps. “All I got is my phone in a Ziplock bag!”

 

“It's the shower control,” Bucky answers. Steve gawks. Bucky flicks his gaze down and raises one eyebrow briefly. “Steve. I own half of New York, let alone property across the rest of the States and out of it. Don’t be surprised that I have expensive shit.”

 

“It’s not that it’s expensive, it’s that it’s in the _shower,_ ” Steve insists. Bucky rolls his eyes.

 

Steve decides to lie back on the bench again and intentionally arrange his legs open and folded at the knee, since Bucky is now naked and he wants to both appreciate the view and maybe entice Bucky into appreciating his own view. He doesn’t even know why Bucky has a bench in his shower, unless for the extravagance of an entire block of marble. It’s warming steadily under his body and he wonders vaguely if the marble has heating installed in it or he’s still running that hot.

 

Bucky holds out a hand to him. “We’re showering, so quit showing off.”

 

“But I wanna,” Steve whines. Bucky raises his eyebrows. Steve sits up, takes his hand and then immediately presses close to his body, circling both arms around his waist and smiling up at him. “I’m still a bit horny.”

 

“Really?” Bucky says, tone mildly interested or mildly mocking. One of the two.

 

Steve nods, fluttering his lashes, knowing it’s a look that never fails to get Alphas tugging their cocks out. Bucky's already halfway there.

 

Bucky sets a hand on his shoulder. The hot water of the rainfall shower is filling the room with steam, the glass door that Steve hadn’t noticed Bucky closing fogging up steadily. Bucky pushes and Steve happily goes to his knees in the rising water.

 

“Go on,” Bucky says calmly, hand still resting on his shoulder.

 

Steve leans in. He starts by kissing the line of Bucky’s torso, the V angling down his body. He touches his nose to the treasure trail of dark hair leading downward, his mouth open as he exhales softly, knowing his breath is warm as it descends. His hands slide up from Bucky’s ankles to the back of his calves, curling around the inside of his knees, up his thick thighs, feeling the muscles like marble, to his ass before coming back around to frame his hips. Bucky looks down at him with a neutral expression, tilting his head to the side, but there’s an amused glint to his eyes. Steve’s determined to tease this time, and he reaches up, parting his lips, only to pass over, to run his flat tongue up the line of hair to Bucky’s navel, his piercing tugging on his tongue as it drags along Bucky’s skin. He closes his mouth over his navel, sucks on it a moment, then reaches further to trace his tongue through the dips of his muscles, outlining his body.

 

Bucky’s hand settles onto his hair. Steve’s heartbeat is lifting again, but Bucky doesn’t push him down and Steve continues to tease. On their own, his knees separate on the marble floor, warm water pooling around his shins folded under his body and brushing over his toes, curled up tightly against the balls of his feet.

 

“Are you enjoying yourself, baby boy?” Bucky asks.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve replies, heart skipping a beat, breath catching in his throat.

 

“I think you’d enjoy yourself more if you quit playing around.”

 

“Is that an order?” Steve whispers. He mouths back down Bucky’s torso, only to duck to the side and begin sucking a mark just below the crest of his hip.

 

“A suggestion,” Bucky says, and Steve hums into his work. “But if you stop teasing, I might let you touch yourself.”

 

Steve presses his forehead into Bucky’s abdomen, drawing in a sharp breath, almost a pant, as he shifts on the marble floor and the water splashes the inside of his thighs.

 

“Does that sound enjoyable to you?” Bucky asks firmly, and his fingers begin to comb through his hair.

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles. He drags his open lips back along Bucky’s hip, saliva pooling between his gums and his cheeks, around his teeth and under his tongue, and Bucky’s fingers curl into his hair.

 

“You want it, baby?” Bucky asks. “You like sucking dick so much you can start and finish yourself while doing it?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers faintly.

 

“No more talking from you,” Bucky instructs. “Not unless it’s one of your safe words. What are they?”

 

Bucky’s fingers tighten, holding him just out of reach. Steve swallows spit and thinks back to what had to be five or six hours ago, when they’d just started and Bucky asked if he had a safe word already.

 

“Brooklyn?” he says. There’d been two. “Brooklyn and Jersey.”

 

“Which to slow and which to stop?”

 

He swallows again. “Brooklyn to slow?”

 

Bucky tuts gentle. “Brooklyn to stop, sweetheart. Jersey to slow down. You gotta remember those. What do you do if you can’t talk?”

 

Steve taps his hand twice, then adds a third tap quickly, since twice was supposed to mimic the word _no._

 

“Good,” Bucky says and relaxes his fingers. “Go ahead, now.”

 

Steve opens his mouth wider and Bucky’s hand presses on the back of his head. He holds on tight to Bucky’s hips to resist the urge to reach for himself, rolls his tongue and ducks his head. Bucky sighs, barely audible, and Steve hums.

 

“That’s good, baby boy,” Bucky praises then, and Steve’s eyes flutter shut as he moans. He works the piercing in his tongue to his advantage and Bucky’s fingers tighten steadily. “How’s this, how I’m holding you? Like it or no?”

 

Steve taps his hand once.

 

“Fucking excellent,” Bucky says and the curse flicks a few of Steve’s brain cells off. “You like getting your mouth fucked, baby?”

 

Steve at first moans, then taps his hand once.

 

“Very good,” Bucky murmurs. “Look at me, baby boy.”

 

Steve opens his eyes immediately, groaning at the pet name, and looks up through his lashes.

 

Bucky lifts his other hand from its place on his shoulders to brush his cheek, knuckles caressing slowly. The touch is electrifying. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth now,” he says matter-of-factly. “Do you wanna play with yourself?”

 

Steve nods quickly, then taps his hand once.

 

Bucky smiles, the predatory grin that makes Steve’s toes curl, and tightens his grip. “Touch yourself,” he orders.

 

Steve drops his right hand instantly. Just as quickly, Bucky shoves his face into the line of his hip roughly. He gasps and almost chokes, takes a breath in through his nose that rapidly turns into a long, lewd sound as his hand closes. He can’t smell anything but Bucky, the scent of his skin and his growing satisfaction, and as Bucky grips his head with both hands, like he’s trying to fuck Steve’s mouth all the way down to his lungs. Steve’s hand moves faster.

 

“Do it harder,” Bucky growls, “move your hand like I know you really want, little cumslut.”

 

Steve flat out whines as he hastens to obey. He catches air when Bucky pulls back, forces it out each time Bucky pushes him in, going dizzy from the buzz and restricted supply of oxygen. The water splashes every time his knuckles disturb its surface, droplets flying to strike his skin, tiny flecks of sensation that add, as well.

 

“You’re so good at this, baby boy,” Bucky says, like he’s exhaling the words, like Steve is finally affecting his brain the way he’s switching off Steve’s. Steve flattens his tongue, letting Bucky reach father, and Bucky sighs again, faint and soft, barely there. “I want you to bring yourself right to the edge, but I don’t want you to come until I dirty up your pretty face. You hear me?”

 

Steve groans hard, tapping his left hand once. He squeezes, speeds up his hand, slows and squeezes again. He wants it bad, he wants Bucky to dirty up his face, he wants to spill into the water pooling around his knees.

 

“You gonna like that, baby?”

 

He hums again, tapping his hand.

 

Bucky pushes Steve’s face in, smashing his nose against his torso, and Steve swallows pre-come. Bucky exhales again, almost a sigh, almost a groan. Steve’s moaning almost constantly; the mix of the salty taste on his tongue, the stimulation he gives himself, Bucky’s controlling hands, he’s dizzy. He keeps having to slow and start up again, keeping himself from coming until Bucky’s done, but not working too hard to bring Bucky to the finish. He draws it out, digging his nails into Bucky’s hip, scraping with the barbell in his tongue, having just enough intelligence left to know where to tilt his head or when to curl his tongue to keep it going. Bucky’s hands slow in their rough direction of his head for a moment, pulling him back and Steve whines.

 

“Look at me,” Bucky commands and Steve snaps his eyes open, having shut them at some point. “Keep looking at me.”

 

He yanks his head back in. Steve makes a low-pitched noise of satisfaction, then has to slow his own hand to hold himself back. He pushes his chin into it, letting his tongue pass his lips and drags his piercing as he pulls it back in, and Bucky responds with a heavy, rumbling growl, his eyes shutting. Steve keeps his gaze locked on Bucky’s face, and when his eyes open again, his pupils are massive, the wolf ready to howl at the moon. His fingers grip harder, palms squeezing a little, then he yanks a hand away and drops forward, pressing his flat palm to the wall, so that Steve’s head is now bent backward, his throat aligning with his mouth.

 

“Tap your hand if this is fine,” Bucky says, his voice a wrecked growl.

 

Steve taps his hand happily.

 

Bucky gets rough again, lifting off the wall after a few seconds just to lean in again, the new angle getting down Steve’s throat almost to his stomach. It takes all of Steve’s resolve to keep his climax at bay and not stop entirely. The water is hot, his blood is thrumming with a fever in his veins, and Bucky jerks back from the wall, jerks out of Steve’s mouth; Steve intentionally flattens his tongue and presses the silver bar piercing it up and in as he does.

 

“Come,” Bucky growls.

 

Steve comes. Bucky splatters his face with a groan and Steve leaves his mouth open to catch it, sagging into the water. Bucky grabs his shoulders, gripping firmly to steady him, and Steve lifts a hand to wipe his face clean.

 

“Lick it up,” Bucky orders.

 

Steve pushes his fingers into his mouth, keeping his gaze level. Bucky’s eyes are piercing, icy blue spirals within steel and Steve thinks that this is an adrenaline rush he wants more often.

 

He sweeps his tongue over his lips. Bucky lifts a hand to grip his jaw.

 

“I gotta admit,” he says, voice rough and quiet, “you’re exceeding my expectations by miles.”

 

Steve grins. “Thank you, sir,” he answers softly.

 

“Stand up,” Bucky orders.

 

Steve rises; his legs are numb from kneeling and Bucky grips his waist even before Steve can sway. He kisses him again, rough, like he loves the taste of himself on Steve’s tongue.

 

Steve’s body is coated with a fine layer of steam and mist from the rainfall just behind Bucky’s back. Bucky pulls him forward, until the water is hitting his hair and running down his back, then Bucky’s hands are following the trail of the water. Steve lets his body relax under Bucky’s touch, eyes shutting again, and Bucky runs his palms from his shoulders to his spine to his ass and his stomach and thighs.

 

“I want you to be mine,” Bucky growls into his mouth.

 

“Lemme get back to you on that,” Steve mumbles. His brain is still functional enough to know better than to reply _yes_ rashly.

 

“Fine,” Bucky says and turns his head to kiss down his neck. Steve bares his throat and Bucky sucks marks into it.

 

He doesn’t usually let clients give him hickeys, but Steve’s holding back on saying _yes_ now for a reason; he loves Bucky’s possessive, predatory attitude even if he's unsure he wants to belong to him. His attention is addictive.

 

“‘M still coming back on Fridays,” he adds.

 

“Are you?” Bucky says into his neck.

 

His teeth close on a spot just below the knot of his throat. Steve swallows, feeling it under his lips, and Bucky growls again.

 

“‘S some fucking good sex, sir,” he mumbles.

 

Bucky’s hands squeeze his ass. Steve is boneless under his grip, finally satisfied in ways he didn’t even know he could be. He feels the gratification in his fingertips, in the caps of his knees and the balls of his shoulders, and somewhere deep in the back of his head that just wants to purr.

 

“See what happens when you obey?” Bucky prompts. “Hand your pleasure to the control of someone else?”

 

Steve exhales carefully, not cognizant enough to really know what Bucky means. He feels satisfied in his joints, with Bucky’s gunmetal-calloused palms petting each inch of his skin, his mouth making bruises down his throat.

 

“Do you or don’t you?” Bucky growls.

 

Steve only shrugs. Bucky huffs but doesn’t ask again.

 

“Think about it,” he says and lifts off his neck. Steve is too satisfied to protest. Bucky cups his chin, tilting his head back, and looks down at him with that alluring aura of power in his gray eyes. “Next week, I want an answer.”

 

“Are you giving me homework?” Steve retorts.

 

Bucky flicks his eyebrows up. For a moment, he holds Steve’s eye contact, then steps back, hands still touching him, looking down his body as though to examine him. He seems unconcerned and detached again, but his attention is zeroed in on Steve, and that’s what’s addictive about it.

 

“Do you want to go home or spend the night?” he asks, reaching for a bar of soap and a cloth.

 

Steve thinks about it while Bucky lathers the soap on the cloth, but is jolted out of his thoughts when Bucky takes the cloth to his skin instead of his own. Yet he doesn’t protest, his lips parting in surprised wonder, while Bucky washes his body with gentle hands.

 

“You’re weird,” he declares when Bucky picks up a bottle of shampoo and starts washing his hair.

 

“It’s called aftercare,” Bucky says in a flat tone.

 

“Oh,” Steve says then. He relaxes again and Bucky works the soap into the roots of his hair.

 

Steve sighs, his eyes shutting. If he’s going to get this every time they have sex, he’d be happy to belong to Bucky. Only hairdressers have washed his hair before, not counting his ma when he was little and sick. Then it was always cold and their long nails bit into his scalp, but Bucky’s fingers are just the right side of rough to massage his scalp, ten times better than having his hair finger-combed or petted.

 

He’d love to have this every single day. He runs his tongue on the inside of his teeth, thinking, then decides he might as well ask.

 

“If I become your sub or whatever it is you want," he starts, "will you brush and wash my hair?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky says easily.

 

“Every day?” Steve presses.

 

“Whenever you want,” Bucky says.

 

Steve smiles at the thought. Bucky pulls him under the fall of water and he tilts his head back, letting the hot water soak through the lathered soap. Bucky’s fingers continue to work the soap, until his hair is washed clean of it. Steve leaves his head tilted back, breathing carefully through his nose, and one of Bucky’s hands lifts from his body for a moment. Then Bucky pulls him back from the water and starts working something else into his hair. It takes Steve a second, his mind having slipped towards sleep, to realize that it’s conditioner. Bucky massages his scalp again, working the conditioner down to his roots, before guiding him back under the flow of the water.

 

“Can you stand fine now?” Bucky asks.

 

“‘M fine,” Steve mumbles.

 

“You really gotta learn how to answer the question I actually _asked,_ punk,” Bucky snaps.

 

“Quit asking stupid questions, ya jerk,” Steve answers immediately.

 

His eyes snap open despite the water falling on his head and he is very aware of every marble surface, the water pouring down on him, every way that could potentially end his life for calling Barnes a jerk. He’d heard once that Barnes shot a man in the foot and then in the face for calling his mother something only mildly insulting.

 

Bucky blinks at him with a neutral expression. Then he cracks a grin and laughs.

 

“Whatchu laughin’ for?” Steve grumbles, not sure if the laugh means he isn’t mad or Bucky’s going to have fun murdering him.

 

“You're cute,” Bucky says, then grabs Steve by his waist and yanks him in. He kisses him hungrily, and Steve happily goes pliant under it. When he breaks the kiss, Bucky is still grinning like a madman. “Ain’t nobody called me a jerk since I left the army. Everybody’s too scared I’ll blow their heads off.”

 

“Oh,” Steve says softly. “Well. It’s a fair concern.”

 

Bucky shrugs. “You never need to worry about making me mad. Worst I’ll do to you is give you blue balls.”

 

“Hey!” Steve squeaks in horrified protest.

 

Bucky laughs again and kisses him a second time, tongue-fucking his mouth for a moment, then releases him. Steve drops onto his heels, then starts, grabbing Bucky’s shoulders, not having realized he’d stood up on his toes. Bucky snorts, holding him firmly against his body.

 

“You’re cute, doll,” Bucky says, the grin morphed to a smirk. “I hope I get to keep you.”

 

Steve’s a little dizzy again from the kiss. He nods vaguely and Bucky grins before pulling back, holding him by the waist to keep him steady.

 

“Go ‘n’ sit down,” Bucky says, jerking his head to the bench. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

 

Steve nods again, pulling away. Bucky’s hands shift to his arms, sliding along to his wrists until Steve moves too far out of reach. He sets himself down on the bench, a good meter from where Bucky stands in the middle of the rainfall now and lies down. He curls an arm under his head to watch the water trailing down Bucky’s rippling muscles as he moves. There is power in his aura and more in his body; Steve imagines Bucky could crush skulls between his thighs, lift a man by the throat and choke him to death with one hand, the way his shoulders and back move is like an advert for Trojan or Axe or Audi. The steam makes his skin shine, the water running down the ripples in rivulets. Steve might be tempted to desire again, but he still feels the satisfaction of their last round in his core. He’s blissfully tired by then and ready to become a vegetable until the next afternoon.

 

He watches Bucky shower, his eyes slowly becoming heavier as the steam and the perfume of expensive soap. The fading aroma of sex and the persistent scent of Bucky work themselves into the nooks and crannies of his body, slipping between strains of muscle, nudging away trace tension to make room for it in his body. He could fall asleep there, as unyielding as the marble under him is, but he’s still got the rest of the night ahead of him. He sits up, yawning, and rubs at his eyes.

 

Bucky’s hand lands on his hair and Steve drops his hands to press into the touch.

 

“You wanna stay here?” he asks.

 

“Hmm?” Steve says.

 

Bucky combs his hair back and Steve shuts his eyes, pleased to be petted.

 

“Do you want to stay the night here?” Bucky asks.

 

“Oh yeah,” Steve mumbles. Bucky had offered to let him stay the night.

 

“You can sleep in the guest room or with me, or I can call a car to take you home. Whatever you want.”

 

Bucky’s hand leaves his hair and Steve’s posture slumps. He swipes water off his face, opening eyes when the shower door opens and he stands up. Bucky tosses him a towel and Steve starts wiping down his body. A minute later, a second towel abruptly flips over his head and he starts, only for Bucky to start working the water out of his hair.

 

“I can dry myself off,” Steve says, waving him off.

 

“Shuddup and lemme fuss,” Bucky grumbles. Steve stands up straight, frowning into the towel’s soft surface. Bucky pulls the towel off his head, then pauses at the look on his face. “What?”

 

“Aren’t you s’posed to be the leader of the Russian mafia?” Steve says. “Let you _fuss?_ ”

 

Bucky gives him a disgruntled look. “I’m human, too,” he says, then drops the towel into his chest. “You don’t want me to fuss, fine.”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Steve says, but Bucky’s already turning away. He scowls at the towel in his hand a moment, then sighs and flips the towel around his neck to finish drying his body.

 

Bucky walks out of the bathroom still naked after drying off, but Steve wraps one of his towels around his torso, not yet comfortable enough to wander about Bucky’s home in his birthday suit. He moves to the doorway of the bathroom, then leans against the jam to watch Bucky pulling boxers out of a dresser drawer. 

 

His gaze wanders to the bed, then to the dried stain on the end of the duvet. Steve sucks on a canine while he thinks, then he walks up to the bed and, letting his towel fall to the ground, flops down like he belongs there.

 

Bucky pulls on the boxers and turns around. Steve stretches, luxuriously, resting against his pillows, and Bucky raises his eyebrows.

 

“You’re staying then?”

 

“I imagine you’ll want me to sleep with you if I become yours,” Steve says, taking care to speak clearly, to enunciate, to ensure that Bucky catches every word. “Consider this a trial run. I want more cuddles.”

 

Bucky’s eyebrows lift higher and Steve holds his gaze level but his position an invitation. He’s learning that if he phrases a demand just right, if he licks his lips or tilts his chin up, Bucky will give him whatever he wants. He lies in Bucky’s bed, naked and damp, like he belongs there, and there’s something possessive growing in Bucky’s eyes that makes him think that Bucky likes it that way.

 

Bucky smiles slowly at him, then nods. “You want to sleep naked or you want clothes?” he asks, hand returning to the dresser.

 

Steve thinks about his underwear somewhere on the other side of the room, but Bucky is resting his hand on the knob of a drawer, waiting.

 

“Gimme clothes,” Steve says.

 

Bucky takes a shirt and a pair of boxers from his dresser, and Steve takes them when he approaches.

 

Bucky watches him don them, like a wolf watches its prey before the pounce. Steve, however, is not a shrew for Bucky to devour in one meal and go on in search of the next. He learns quick, and Bucky’s wandering hands and cold eyes betray loneliness in his luxurious marble penthouse.

 

Lonely is a liability. Lonely is the most dangerous thing you can be. Lonely is the most vulnerable to an inviting posture, and Steve isn’t above taking advantage of a wolf’s lonely heart. He will reveal to be a fox under his clothes and trick the wolf into hunting for him instead.

 

He lies back, grabbing the blankets and pushing them down to crawl under them, while Bucky walks around to the other side of the bed and sets two phones on the nightstand, Steve’s and his own. Steve looks to his left, but there isn’t a table on that side.

 

“I’m going to need a nightstand,” he announces. He glances back at Bucky. “If I’m going to be here often.”

 

“Will you?” Bucky says quietly.

 

Steve shifts onto his side, tucking an arm under his head, and raises his eyebrows at Bucky. “Yep. What are the conditions of being your sub? ‘Cause I ain’t doing what’s-her-face from _Fifty Shades of Grey_ and signing some bullshit contract.”

 

Bucky sets one knee on the bed, then his palms, then he comes to rest on the mattress directly next to Steve, crawling over to him in a prowling manner until his hands are framing his body so that his shadow hangs over him. Steve lies perfectly still.

 

“I want company,” Bucky starts.

 

His voice is low, just below too deep to be a murmur and just this side of too smooth to be a growl. He sounds like molten chocolate, pouring in a slow drip, almost sensual and nearing adoring. It catches low on Steve’s spine and tugs a shiver up it.

 

“I want somebody to fuck,” Bucky says, “somebody to listen when I want to vent. You know what I want from you during sex now, I want those things daily. I want you to listen to me.”

 

Steve shifts onto his back, to let Bucky’s shadow cover his whole body, and mimics Bucky’s calculating expression. “What about what I want?”

 

Bucky flicks his gaze over the edge of the bed. “There’ll be a nightstand on that side next week.”

 

“What else?” Steve says quickly.

 

“What else do you want?” Bucky asks, tone mildly interested or mildly mocking, Steve still can’t tell.

 

He purses his lips, tilting his head and gaze back like he’s considering it, but he already knows what he wants. In his peripheral vision, he watches Bucky’s gaze slip from his face to his neck, something hungry growing in his wolf’s eyes.

 

For one thing, Steve wants that.

 

“I want to be fucked,” he says. Bucky jerks his gaze back up. “And I want your attention.”

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “My attention?” he repeats, as though it amuses him.

 

“If I were to go into your office while you were working,” Steve says, letting his voice trail into something breathy, a barely-there breeze to Bucky’s molten chocolate. He rises up some, almost closing the distance between their mouths, Bucky’s gaze falls to his lips and his next words are a ghost to Bucky’s lips. “And I told you that I wanted you to take me out,” he says, “would you do it?”

 

“When I was done working,” Bucky answers flatly.

 

“If I were to go up to you and sit in your lap,” Steve starts again, watching Bucky’s gaze growing darker, “and say that I felt neglected and I wanted to go out and –” he stops to lick his lips and says the next words even softer, but even still, Bucky’s pupils dilate “– I wanted you to show off what’s yours…”

 

Steve pauses, to inhale and to let his words sink in. Bucky’s eyes are making his skin crawl in a delicious fire. “Would you do it right away?” he asks quietly.

 

Bucky’s expression is the wolf’s; closed, evaluating, but starving, hungry and hunting. Steve, however, speaks with his whole body; open, inviting, crafty and manipulating like the fox. He wants Bucky’s attention at all times, and James Barnes is an isolated, lone and lonely wolf who wants someone to keep him warm in his marble empire of ill-gotten gains. To bare your throat is a metaphor of surrender, the white flag of the animal kingdom, yet by lifting his chin, Steve can control the most dangerous Alpha in probably the entire country. That power is addictive.

 

So Steve bares his throat. “Would you stop whatever you were doing, just to give me what I want?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky says, and Steve nods slowly, biting his lip.

 

“I’ll have to think about it,” he says softly, a smile curling his lip like he’s already made up his mind and he’s going to say yes. He is, but he wants to tease a while longer. Bucky picked him for the hunt, and Steve enjoys being chased as much as Bucky seems to like taking him down.

 

But he leaves his throat exposed. He lets the wolf think that he’s been pinned, that his teeth are poised, ready to be sunk into his esophagus, that if Steve moved, he would be ready to strike. Steve wants to tease. He still wears all his jewelry, the wolf’s teeth will catch on his studded collar-like choker before they sink into his throat, and Bucky knows it. Steve still has the power to say _no,_ and the lonely wolf is clearly prepared to do anything to keep him from doing so.

 

“Fine,” Bucky says, yet again giving Steve the control. Never mind his shadow hanging over Steve, never mind that he likes to loom and to dominate. Steve is the one in power here now. He lowers his body down, leaving his head tilted back, and Bucky ducks his head to press a kiss under his jaw, looming the way he does that’s laced with something a little predatory. While his face is turned away, Steve smiles, something laced with a little victory.

 

Bucky lies down next to him and with a tap of his phone, the lights of the penthouse turn off. Steve lies with his body curved inward, arms above his head, his waist exposed like an invitation. Bucky accepts it without hesitation, his arm curling around the curve of Steve’s body, drawing him into his chest, wrapping his arms around him and settling his nose into the nape of his neck.

 

Steve looks at Bucky’s other hand lying splayed on the bed, and thinks, in a few Fridays, he will lace their fingers together purposefully. For now, he gently nudges Bucky’s hand with his own, as though hesitant, until Bucky lifts it and intertwines their fingers himself. Steve inhales, exhales, and smiles as he shuts his eyes.

 

In a year, maybe two, maybe less, he will shyly ask Bucky if he ever thought about getting married. In five years or so, he will offer him an heir to the ill-gotten empire. In a week, he will obey Bucky’s every command, starting by arriving wearing a plug so Bucky can just slide in on whatever surface and in whatever position he wants.

 

He will lounge in the shadow of James Barnes, comfortable and seductive in his ease. He will relax in this marble penthouse, throat bared to Barnes’s teeth and hands, and while Rumlow feared submission, Steve will utilize surrender to his every advantage. He will occupy the empty space in Bucky’s marble life, lonely and cold, like it is where he has always belonged.

 

Bucky falls asleep first, his breathing going deep and rhythmic. At his apartment, Steve used to fall asleep to the sounds of the urban nightlife, the symphony of a city that never sleeps, sirens and engines and drunks and insomniacs, and here, ninety-five floors up, all he hears is Bucky’s slow breathing. He wants Bucky’s attention, but he isn't teasing a wolf for that. Here, with the knowledge of Barnes’s loneliness, Steve falls asleep trusting that he’ll never be the weakling receptacle of some lowlife’s anger again. Having experienced Barnes’s unconditional compassion, he falls asleep contented to be sure no one will ever blindfold him because he spoke out of turn again. Surrounded by the assurance of stability, Steve falls asleep with the promise that he will never go hungry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _look at me flipping the power dynamic on its head. no seriously, "hungry like the fox" is one of my favorite exchanges i've ever written. i think it's easily my favorite scene in this fic. if you enjoyed it, consider leaving a comment? or reblogging[the art from chapter one](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179382932886/barnes-leaves-his-hand-where-its-barely-touching) on chaos's tumblr? reblogs and comments keep us from turning into hermits and abandoning society to live under a rock. or maybe that's just me idk. i hope you did enjoy this chapter and i'll see you this evening with **"red, black, and white marble."**_
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	4. red, black, white marble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _are y'all having fun? i hope so. this chapter does not contain any smut, it contains plot. but some good plot, i'd say, so pls enjoy anyway._

#  _red, black, white marble_

 

Steve wakes up alone. He wakes up cold and draws the blankets tighter around his body. He can smell Barnes, but he doesn’t feel him at his back, so his eyes open and he looks around the room blearily. The drapes have been pulled over the windows, but in the gaps between the fabric, sunlight reaches through, tendrils slowly slipping between the curtains to make him blink and rub at his eyes. He pulls the blankets up again, then rolls to the other side of the bed and fumbles around for his phone on the nightstand. Bucky’s side of the bed is completely gone cold, not a trace of residual heat, and when Steve thumbs awake the screen of his phone, the time reads half past eight.

 

Steve drops his face into the mattress to groan, frustrated by workaholics. It’s Saturday. What the fuck is Bucky even doing?

 

He crawls out of the bed and heads for the door. He doesn’t bother looking for his clothes, he’s wearing a shirt of Bucky’s that reaches past his hips and boxers that keep slipping down low on his hips. He expects that the wolf’s eyes will flash possessively when Bucky sees him still in his clothes. He opens the door and wanders out, rubbing at his eyes again at the increase of sunlight, and hears voices in the room on the right.

 

Steve pushes the door open, squinting, and sees four people gathered in the room. Bucky is behind a mahogany desk with his feet up, one hand behind his head and the other holding a lit cigar. He’s dressed already, slacks and a waistcoat over his dress shirt, despite being before nine on a Saturday.

 

Those in the room quit talking. Steve blinks for a second, recognizing Romanoff – for once, not flipping a knife – and none of the others, then elects to ignore them and scowls at Bucky. He's trying to convey _Why the hell are you working this early on a Saturday you moron_ with his eyes, but Bucky doesn't seem to get it.

 

“Go back to bed,” Bucky says before he can even open his mouth.

 

Steve ignores this, too. He warned Bucky that he would intrude on his business if he wanted attention, and if Bucky won’t actually give him what he wants when he wants it, he’s not giving Bucky anything in return. He strides through the office, through the startled faces of Bucky’s guests, behind Bucky’s desk and flicks at his knees. Bucky raises his eyebrows, but takes his shoes off the desk. Steve immediately moves to occupy his lap, tucking into his neck and closing his eyes again. He smells like smoke, but it’s not the cheap cigarette or marijuana smoke Steve’s used to. It’s a more woodsy scent, more refined, more elegant. It fits his aura of power and money.

 

Someone chuckles, but it’s cut off hastily. Bucky’s hand sets on his elbow, then worms under his arm to curl around his waist.

 

“I see you kept him,” he hears a woman. Romanoff.

 

“ _I'm_ keeping _him,_ ” Steve says before anyone else can speak.

 

The someone laughs again, and even Bucky chuckles.

 

“We’ll see,” Bucky murmurs in his ear. Steve shivers and burrows deeper, tucking his knees into the arm of Bucky’s desk chair. “Are you just going to go back to sleep in my lap, doll?”

 

“Yep,” Steve mumbles. He tucks his face into Bucky’s neck so that his shirt collar blocks the light and exhales, satisfied. Bucky’s other hand rests on his knee.

 

“Keep talking,” Bucky says to the rest of the room, voice going brisk.

 

“Uh, well, Ross is offering 50k if you contribute to his re-election campaign. Stern is offering the same, but we got him meeting with Schmidt, the wacko neo-Nazi?”

 

“Fuck Stern. What’s Ross want?”

 

Steve quits listening. It takes him barely a minute to zone out from the voices. There’s less yelling than he’s used to in Brass Fang, the same amount of expletives and a greater level of casual threats, though these threats have more weight to them when they’re made by James Barnes. But Steve zones out, not giving a shit about re-election campaigns. He falls into a shallow doze, practiced to wake up if needed.

 

“What about Fang?” Bucky says, and Steve wakes up. “What have you got on them?”

 

“It’s been less than 24 hours,” Romanoff says. Steve opens one eye, the one closer to Bucky’s collar. “Nothing concrete.”

 

“I want them gone in a week,” Bucky snaps.

 

“I can get them gone in a day,” a man says.

 

“I want them in prison for life,” Bucky retorts.

 

“Why do you hate them so much all of a sudden?” Romanoff asks sharply. Steve shuts his eye and hopes they still think he’s asleep. “They’re paying you, you got your boy toy, what more do you want?”

 

“Garrett hired underage kids,” Bucky says sharply. “Rumlow probably hired underage kids, and I’m betting Rollins is fine with keeping those kids on his bench. I ain’t taking money made off of sixteen and seventeen-year-olds.”

 

“Their books are a mess,” a different man speaks up, “how do you know –”

 

The voice cuts off. Bucky’s hand has lifted off of Steve’s knee, leaving his skin cold in its absence. Steve tightens his jaw and holds himself still. But Bucky's hand is gone only for a second, then it drops down again.

 

“He was seventeen starting with them,” Bucky says angrily. “I want the whole damn gang off the street.”

 

“What about the girls?” Romanoff counters, while somebody mutters: “Well, how old is he _now?_ ”

 

“Get ‘em jobs elsewhere,” Bucky says. The muttered question goes unanswered.

 

“What about the girls that they’ve got dependent on drugs, huh?”

 

Steve thinks of Jessica and her seven years of bloodshot eyes. How he took coke once and got the shakes so bad he refused to touch it again. He met Jess after he landed in the foster system, bloodshot eyes and all. She introduced him to Garrett.

 

“Open a rehab center,” Bucky snaps. “Use the 50k Ross is giving me. Flush out Fang’s cash, wash it, put it back into getting the girls resettled.”

 

“And your boy toy?” Romanoff snaps back.

 

Bucky’s hand tightens on his knee. Steve has the sudden thought that he could just sit up and assure Bucky he’d rather be a kept boy, but he holds his tongue; he wants to wear out the wolf’s run, he wants to draw out the chase.

 

“Just get Fang off the streets,” Bucky replies angrily.

 

“I could just as easily have ‘em taken out,” a man says in a tired voice. “Pop! They gone.”

 

“I said I wanted them in prison.”

 

“You already killed Rumlow,” the man sighs.

 

“I didn’t know he was selling kids then, did I? Prison, and it’ll be easy on ‘em for what I’d rather do.”

 

“Don’t go dominatrix on us, Barnes, it’s unflattering.”

 

Steve can’t help it, he laughs. He feels Bucky look down and he covers his mouth with a hand, still sniggering, and the trigger-happy man laughs.

 

“Shuddup,” Bucky grumbles. He flicks Steve’s belly ring. “Don’t embarrass me, punk.”

 

Steve sighs, then stretches and resettles. “Thought I was baby boy,” he mumbles, just loud enough to be heard, just to be a little shit.

 

“You can be both,” Bucky says, huffing. There are multiple people sniggering now. “Shuddup!”

 

“Uh-oh, he’s angry,” a third man says.

 

“Protect your privates!” the first of the men says, laughing.

 

Steve hadn’t thought that rumor was true, but it seems Bucky did shoot someone’s balls off once. He’s not worried. His throat is already bared.

 

“Shuddup!” Bucky says a third time. “Stevie, behave yourself or I’ll make you go back to bed.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles, softer now, and Bucky squeezes his knee placatingly.

 

“Too late,” the first man chuckles.

 

“Hush your mouth, Francis, or I _will_ shoot you in the balls.”

 

Steve snorts and the man apparently called Francis yelps; something bangs into something and there’s a loud crash, making Steve lift his head and look around. The blonde of the three men has staggered into a globe and knocked it open, revealing decanters of golden liquid.

 

“Hey, hey, watch my booze!” Bucky calls.

 

The blonde hastily recovers the globe. Steve slumps against his shoulder again, but quits trying to sleep. He watches the three men and Romanoff as they return to their business with Bucky, looking for tells and nervous ticks out of habit. There’s the clumsy blonde who has the voice of Francis, a dark-haired and well-dressed fellow in sunglasses – holding a cane as well, the sunglasses and cane clearly indicating that the man's blind –, and a dude wearing khakis and a Hawaiian print shirt amongst the suits.

 

Steve likes the guy in khakis. He looks half-asleep or high, which are both better things to be doing on a Saturday morning.

 

Eventually, he checks the time. The crystal clock on Bucky’s desk reads nearly eleven, and they don’t seem to be wrapping up. Steve can’t fathom what the hell they could still have to talk about, but most of it involves tentative information and math that goes in one ear and out the other. He’s getting hungry and he’s getting tired of Bucky only lifting his hands to gesture with them.

 

But he doesn’t want to risk his position under the wolf’s teeth, and he’s fairly certain that if he acts out anymore this morning, he’ll actually annoy Bucky. He ends up ducking his head back into Bucky’s neck and pouting, hoping Bucky’ll notice. He doesn’t. So he squirms a little, but Bucky only pats his knee once. Steve glowers into Bucky’s collar.

 

Then his stomach rumbles. The dude in khakis cuts off mid-sentence and they all look at him.

 

Steve feigns embarrassment. He hides his face and Bucky pets his side comfortingly.

 

“I think it’s time to wrap up,” he announces. “Call me with developments.”

 

“Holy shit,” says Francis, “we’re breaking before dark. I like the boy toy!”

 

“Just get out,” Bucky calls.

 

Steve listens to footsteps and the door shut. Bucky pats his side and he sits up, pressing his lips to Bucky’s firmly and demandingly. Bucky catches the base of his head, fingers gripping tightly, and after a second Steve relaxes. He sighs into the kiss and Bucky slides his hand down to squeeze the back of his neck.

 

“You work too much,” Steve mumbles against his mouth.

 

Bucky breaks the kiss. “I have a business to manage,” he says levelly.

 

Steve shrugs. “Still. What time did you even get up? Bed was cold when I woke up.”

 

“‘Round seven.”

 

“Ugh,” Steve declares, then hides his face into Bucky’s neck again. “I’m hungry,” he says, though he’s thinking that he’s going to tell Bucky he can’t leave the bed before noon on Saturdays when Steve's in it, and Bucky laughs.

 

“We noticed,” he says. His arms change their position, his right arm curling under Steve’s knees instead of over them, and Bucky stands up. Steve settles in for the ride, holding onto Bucky’s neck. “You wanna eat here or head home?”

 

Steve groans, because he’s got that laundry at home that he was supposed to take to the laundromat on Wednesday. He’s still got to take the money Bucky gave him for keeping his lap warm to the bank so he can write his landlord a cheque. He probably should clean his kitchen and vacuum and pay his other bills, but he wants to stay cradled in Bucky’s arms.

 

He wonders how long he really should keep up the guise of making up his mind. Bucky probably has a maid that does his laundry and cleans his kitchen for him.

 

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart," Bucky says. "Here or home?”

 

“Here,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky carries him down the stairs, the sunlight of the floor to ceiling windows staining his eyelids, eventually setting him down on a sofa.

 

“Take-out sound good?” Bucky asks.

 

“What, ain’t you gonna cook for me?” Steve counters with a corner of his lip curling up.

 

Bucky gives him an unamused look. Steve shrugs. “I don’t cook,” Bucky says.

 

Steve swings his legs off the sofa. “Fine,” he says, “good thing I do.”

 

He strides toward the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder once and pausing at the doorway. “Comin’?” he calls to Bucky, then ducks inside.

 

The marble is everywhere, it seems; the floors are the same white marble, but the counters match the black marble of the shower. The appliances are steel that gleams, full stove, oven, dishwasher, a refrigerator that Steve thinks is much too big for a bachelor. He gets a feel for the cupboards and cabinets, finds a block of knives, cutting boards, plates and bowls and utensils, and turns back to find Bucky sitting at a dining table, watching him with his wolf’s eyes. They are proud, now, like Bucky is displaying the gleam of his coat and not the stainless steel of the kitchen surfaces. Steve opens the fridge and digs around in them for a second, until he finds eggs and an assortment of vegetables.

 

“What’re you cooking?” Bucky asks as Steve lays out things on the center island counter.

 

“Hangover special,” Steve answers. He glances back at him, a brow lifting at the corner and his lips curling in something dry as he adds: “Because I’m hungry like I got a hangover. I think I used a lotta energy last night or something.”

 

Bucky’s lips curl at the corners and Steve mimics the smirk, searching for potatoes now. He finds them as well as onions in a cabinet under the far counter, sets out a few and returns to the fridge to find bacon or sausages. There are both, so he just takes the bacon and gets it cooking in the microwave. After finding a frying pan, a measuring cup and then a whisk, he starts cutting up the potatoes into thin strips to pan fry.

 

“What’s in a hangover special?” Bucky asks. He’s leaning back in his chair, the front two legs lifting off the ground, with a thumb pressed to his cheek and hand propping up his chin as his elbow rests on a long dining table. The rings on his index, middle, and pinky finger gleam brighter than the stainless steel, but his ring finger is bare. It’s his left hand, and Steve is already thinking of what wedding ring would best match.

 

“Eggs, potatoes, lots of veggies, bacon,” Steve answers. He gestures to the potatoes with the knife. “Lots of potatoes. Carbs are good for hangovers.”

 

“Can’t say I’ve had a hangover in a very long time,” Bucky chuckles.

 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “‘Cause you’re an old man,” he teases.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t see you complaining before.”

 

“I did complain, a whole one time,” Steve counters. He pushes aside a pile of potato strips and starts to cut up an onion to go with them. “Thirty-eight. You’re nearly forty.”

 

“Nearly thirty-nine,” Bucky corrects.

 

“Way closer to forty than me, anyway. When’s your birthday?” Steve asks. He’ll have to start working out what to get him right away if it’s any earlier than his own. What does one get a man who has a TV in his rainfall style shower?

 

“March 10th,” Bucky says. Steve screws up his nose again. “What’s the face for?” Bucky adds with a laugh.

 

“What the hell do I get you?” Steve says. “Shit, what am I gonna get you for _Christmas?_ ”

 

“Take it one day at a time, doll,” Bucky reminds him. He smiles and it crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Besides, put a bow on your ass and I’ll be happy.”

 

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Lingerie is a very unoriginal gift.”

 

“Even just a lil’ paper bow,” Bucky says, laughing again as he lifts a hand and holds his thumb an inch from his forefinger. “Your ass is already a gift.”

 

Steve tries not to swell too much at the praise and focuses on the onion again. He wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of the borrowed shirt he's wearing, the fumes of the onion making them sting. He has about a month before he really has to worry about Christmas, after all, Halloween was barely a week ago.

 

“When’s your birthday?” Bucky asks.

 

“July 4th,” he answers.

 

Bucky laughs. “Seriously?”

 

Steve wrinkles his nose again. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Wasn’t my fault. I was born too early and everything.”

 

“Really?” Bucky says, sitting up and returning all four legs of the chair to the floor. “Wasn’t a problem, was it?”

 

Steve shrugs, not really wanting to get into childhood illnesses or complications following birth. He pushes the onion away and wipes at his eyes with the sleeve again, hears footsteps and the tap, then a hand touches his shoulder. He looks up, blinking, and Bucky holds a damp paper towel out to him. Steve takes it with the hand not covered in onion juice and dabs at his eyes with a muttered thanks. Bucky touches his hand to the small of his back, then kisses his temple. He moves away and Steve blinks at the onion.

 

Bucky’s acting weird again. A kiss on the temple is remarkably non-sexual. Remarkably affectionate, which isn’t what Steve would have expected out of James Barnes.

 

But he ignores it and goes looking for olive oil. He normally uses store-brand cooking spray, but since Bucky’s rich as shit, he’s sure he’ll have real extra virgin olive oil. He wonders what makes it extra _virgin._ It’s a stupid thing to say for a vegetable oil.

 

He finds it and pours it into the pan, turning on the fire on low to warm it up. He puts the onions with the potatoes on one corner of the cutting board, then starts cutting up peppers and mushrooms to go in the eggs.

 

“Do you have any family?” Bucky asks abruptly.

 

Steve’s hand slips in pressing down on a pepper and the knife hits his thumb. He swears and drops the knife and the pepper and a second later, Bucky is standing next to him, reaching for his hand. Steve snatches up the damp paper towel and presses it to the cut, blood seeping quickly into the towel, pink with the water.

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, here, let’s get you a bandage, c’mon,” Bucky is saying.

 

Steve scowls at his thumb, at the minuscule cut that throbs, and Bucky’s guiding him away from the counter to sit at the table. Bucky steps away, opening a cabinet at the far end of the kitchen, and returning with a small first aid kit. He reaches out again and Steve just lets him fuss. Bucky wipes the cut with an alcohol swab, then squeezes Neosporin from a tube onto the pad of a name brand Band-Aid before wrapping the end of his thumb in it.

 

“I don’t,” Steve says belatedly. Bucky glances up. “Have any family.”

 

Bucky gives him a sympathetic look and ducks his head again. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Dad was never around and Ma passed when I was sixteen,” Steve adds.

 

He does not add what killed his mother, because while Barnes has committed murder for his empire, Steve doesn’t think that birth is a fair excuse for it.

 

“So, you don’t gotta worry about anybody throwing a fit about how you’re fifteen years older than me,” he adds.

 

Bucky’s lips curl in a dry smile and he gives Steve’s hand a squeeze. “I don’t have much family, either. I got a sister, but she’s not talking to me.”

 

“Why not?” Steve asks. Barnes is asking him personal questions, he might as well give as good as he gets.

 

Bucky shrugs. “Part of the whole leader of the Russian mafia thing,” he says and leaves it there.

 

Steve only nods. “What happened to your parents?” he asks.

 

“No clue,” Bucky says. “Never met them. Becca, my sister, and me, we were raised in an orphanage.”

 

“Oh,” Steve mumbles. “I… I didn’t even know they had orphanages in the US anymore.”

 

“They don’t,” Bucky says then, “we were born in Romania.”

 

Steve blinks at him. Bucky smiles tightly. “But… You have a New York accent?”

 

“Been here twenty years,” Bucky laughs. “New York wears you down.”

 

Steve smiles weakly, lifting his hand to cradle his thumb to his chest. Bucky stands up, his hands cup Steve’s ears, and he kisses the top of his head. Steve blinks again, now at the red stain on the drying pink alcohol swab.

 

“I’ll cut up the rest of the stuff, yeah?” Bucky says, walking away. Steve nods, even though Bucky can’t see with his back turned.

 

He’s trying to decide whether this sort of attention, non-sexual affection, is something he even knows how to receive let alone reciprocate.

 

“So, the pan’s hot,” Bucky calls.

 

“Put the potatoes and onions in it,” Steve answers. “Turn the fire up to medium, add salt and pepper.”

 

“What do I do with the rest of the stuff?”

 

“Cut up the veggies, scramble the eggs and put all those in another pan.”

 

Steve usually cooks the potatoes and then uses the same pan for the eggs when they’re done, to lessen how many things he’ll have to wash. But Bucky can afford to use more than one pan, he probably has a maid.

 

“Right. Don’t you put cheese in eggs?”

 

Steve looks up finally. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

 

Bucky glances back at him, then points at the fridge. Steve drops his hand and stands up, going in search of cheese. He sets out shredded cheddar, leans on the counter and watches Bucky take over the cooking. He feels very tired now, like the strain of his late night and little sleep in a strange place is catching up to him, so he props his face on his fist and shuts his eyes, hoping that Bucky will just let him be quiet and stop asking questions Steve doesn’t feel comfortable answering.

 

Bucky lets him be quiet. He plates the food, takes Steve’s elbow and guides him to the table. They sit and eat in the same silence, and halfway through his serving, Steve stops to yawn and pushes it away, feeling a little sick. He’d eaten too much.

 

“Full?” Bucky asks. He takes the plate without waiting for Steve to answer. He steps away, putting things away, and Steve yawns again before standing up.

 

“I think I’m ready to go home,” he says.

 

Bucky looks up from where he’s scraping food into a container, then nods. “I’ll call you a car,” he says.

 

Steve nods, then leaves the kitchen without another word to go get dressed. He rests his hand along the banister as he takes the stairs, then at the top, pauses to just look around.

 

He hadn’t really stopped to take in the decor when he arrived the night before, but looking now, the space is very minimalistic. Minimalistic, but not like it was meant to be that way. More like nobody bothered to fill up the empty spaces on the walls, to add touches of color to the black leather sofas and white shag rugs. The wallpaper is silver with paler vertical stripes, but that’s the most by way of decoration the penthouse has.

 

Steve walks into Bucky’s bedroom to find his clothes, thinking that the place would be a little less lonely if Bucky added some color.

 

He dresses in last night’s clothes, jeans and crop top and spiked boots, then checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror. His makeup, the little he’d been wearing, had washed off in the shower, but the edges of his lips still retain the lines of his lipstick. He grabs a cloth from the cupboard Bucky had taken the towels from and wets it, then wipes the red away, leaving him a little pale. Steve leaves the bathroom, trailing his nails like oxygenated blood over the silver brocades of the wallpaper. Some red would do this black and white marble penthouse a world of good.

 

Bucky’s in the foyer when he comes downstairs, frowning at his phone. Steve walks right up to him, then turns his face to the side, chin tilted up, waiting.

 

Bucky’s hand cups his shoulder before he bends to kiss his cheek. Steve holds back a smug smile.

 

“Car’s waiting downstairs,” Bucky says. “My driver’ll take you home.”

 

Steve nods. He hadn’t expected Bucky to take him home himself. Bucky’s other hand takes his jaw and pulls him in for a kiss to his mouth; rough, abrupt, as he always kisses. Steve hangs pliant in his grip, addicted to his attention.

 

Bucky releases him, then pats him on the ass. Steve gives him a smile, then steps into the waiting elevator. The bored attendant glances once at him, the same one as the night before, and away again. Steve’s smile grows smug in the elevator as he puts in his headphones and starts playing music, down the 30 floors from the penthouse to the marble lobby.

 

The receptionist watches him leave. Steve does the walk of shame, wearing last night’s clothes well into the new morning, with pride.

 

A new-looking Mercedes waits outside, a man in a suit and sunglasses and the faint bulge over his hip that betrays a gun. He holds out his hand to Steve as he approaches.

 

“I’m Luke Cage,” the suit says, “Mr. Barnes’s driver.”

 

“I’m Steve,” he answers, shaking his hand once. Given the man’s bulk, he assumes that Cage is more than just a driver. “You need directions?”

 

Cage shakes his head. “Mr. Barnes knows where you live.”

 

He opens the car door, the back seat, and Steve gets in, smug as can be. He settles into the fine leather interior, his nails like oxygenated blood tracing the hand stitching, as Cage gets into the driver’s seat and pulls into traffic. When he gets home, he’ll change and leave again to go visit Darcy, for a second opinion on how long wolves like to chase their prey.

 

At his apartment building, Cage wishes him a good day. Steve only waves before leaving, walking up to his building with a swing to his step. One of his neighbors is checking his mail, until Steve passes and he’s watching him walk. Steve takes the stairs, not touching the banister, pulling out his keys when he nears his door.

 

He kicks it shut behind him, dropping the keys onto the kitchen counter. He shoves his fingers into his hair to shake it out, then stops at the sight of Rollins sitting with his feet up on Steve’s coffee table.

 

Rollins waves with the pistol in his hand, the metal gleaming in the light coming from the slats in the blinds. He takes a drag on his cigarette, then stubs it out on the arm of Steve’s couch. He flicks it into a corner, its tip still trailing smoke.

 

“How was your night with James Barnes?” Rollins asks casually.

 

“Fine,” Steve answers. He stands by the door, wondering if he ought to be moving to grasp the spiked baseball bat by the TV.

 

“Fun?” Rollins asks. He gestures with the gun in his hand again. “Must’ve been. You were out all night.”

 

“Barnes gives some fantastic dick,” Steve says easily. He steps toward the TV sideways, movements slow.

 

Rumlow used to show up at his apartment at random times, but he never brought a gun. Rumlow was louder, but Rollins is probably more dangerous.

 

“I want you to keep your ears open,” Rollins says. He sets the gun on his thigh, watching Steve with dark eyes. Bucky watches him with the predatory hunger of a wolf, but Rollins looks at him with the irritated ownership of a magpie collecting shinies. It’s no less threatening, especially not with the gun in hand, but certainly less enjoyable.

 

“Well,” Steve starts, acting as unruffled by Rollins’s gun as he would Bucky’s wolf’s eyes, “if you want to know what sorts of things Barnes likes to be called during sex, then –”

 

“Shut up,” Rollins commands, tone sharpening into actual _command,_  and Steve's mouth shuts against his will. He glares, though, because Rollins only commanded him to stop speaking. “We’re working on a plan," Rollins continues. "Keep your ears open for an opportunity.”

 

Steve wants to ask what kind of opportunity, but his jaw remains clamped shut.

 

Rollins stands up, pushing the gun into the waistband of his jeans. “You still owe Fang a debt, Rogers. It’ll take you years to pay it off, and by then you’ll be too old and wrinkled for even the novelty to be worth anything. But you do this for us, and we’ll forgive the debt.”

 

Steve merely raises his eyebrows at him.

 

“Good talk,” Rollins adds, smiling. “I’ll keep your spare key, shall I?”

 

Steve glares at his back as he leaves. Rollins slams the door and Steve hastens to put the chain on it. After that, he wrenches his jaw open and groans in frustration, sagging against the door.

 

He’d hoped that when Garrett was arrested, his debt would have been forgotten in the transition of a new leader, or at the very least, the debt would’ve fallen when Rumlow died. He doesn’t owe Brass Fang money, he owes them his life.

 

Then again, if he belongs to James Barnes, nothing and no one can touch him.

 

Steve pushes off the door and heads for his room, already stripping out of his clothes to change. He’s owed Brass Fang his life for six or so years now, and he can owe them his life for a few months longer until he’s tired of being chased.

 

He texts Darcy that he’s heading over, puts on joggers and a sweatshirt, grabs his keys and phone again to head to his car. It’s not actually his car, really, it belongs to the gang. Steve just gets to drive it.

 

Darcy opens the door on his first knock, dressed in sweatpants that hang low on her hips and a tank top that’s a little too small, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Spill!” she demands instantly.

 

Steve pushes past her and heads for her couch, immediately falling onto it with a grin.

 

“That is the face of someone who got some good dick!” Darcy laughs, dropping onto the coffee table next to him. “I wanna know everything!”

 

“Oh, my, God,” Steve says. He’s already forgetting about his debt to Fang to think about last night. “He’s _mouthwatering,_  Darce.”

 

Darcy squeals, clapping her hands together. “Alright, alright, what happened?”

 

Steve starts at the beginning, with Barnes walking up to him and taking away his phone. She laughs when he tells about Bucky putting off letting Steve give him a blowjob to make him strip, then actually falls off the coffee table laughing too hard when he tells her that Bucky had him calling him _sir._

 

“I didn’t even know I had that kink!” Steve laughs with her. Darcy clutches to her stomach, cackling. “But, holy shit! He had me _begging,_  Darcy, when he finally got around to fucking me, he had me _begging_ to come.”

 

“Kinky bastard!” Darcy forces out between gasps of laughter. “Oh, my God!”

 

“And then!” Steve adds, laughing still. “And then! I sucked him off _again_ in the shower and he had me jerk off while doing it! It was phenomenal!”

 

“I’m dying!” Darcy wheezes. “You’re killing me!”

 

“I haven’t even gotten to the best part,” Steve says. Darcy props herself up on her elbows, gawking. “Barnes didn’t show up at the fight last week to put the fear of the Bratva into Rumlow. He came for _me._ ”

 

“You’re shitting me,” Darcy says instantly.

 

“He wants me to be his,” Steve insists. “His sub or something, but he wants me to quit working for Fang and just be his.”

 

“What, like a kept boy?” Darcy snorts.

 

“Yep,” Steve says with delight.

 

Darcy gawks. “Are you going to say yes?” she demands. She sits up on her knees, grabbing his hands. “Please tell me you’re going to say yes. Become the sugar baby you are in your heart, Stevie. Follow the call of the dark side.”

 

“Oh, I’m saying yes,” he assures her and she flops against the couch with a sigh of relief. “But I wanna make him wait on me for a little while. Test the waters.”

 

Extend the chase.

 

“Smart,” Darcy says. She’s calming down now. “Like, see what kinds of things he'll give you?”

 

Steve shrugs lightly. “I don’t even care about gifts. Mostly, I just want his attention.”

 

His attention, and then a foundation for the rest of their lives. If he can entrance Barnes now, he can keep him that way, and he can continue taking advantage of Barnes’s lonely heart to crawl out of poverty.

 

Darcy snorts. “You’re a child,” she says.

 

“A child who’s got James Barnes waiting on him,” Steve says proudly. “He told me to show up wearing a plug next week, so I’m thinking I need to borrow the skirt.”

 

Darcy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?” she says, sitting up straighter to raise her eyebrows. She knows exactly which skirt he’s talking about. “Are you going to seduce him even though he’s already a sure thing?”

 

“Never hurts to keep ‘em interested,” Steve counters.

 

Darcy grins slowly. “You sly fox,” she says finally. “But if you get spunk or slick on it, you’re dry cleaning it.”

 

Steve mimics the grin. He doesn’t tell her about Bucky’s plans to take down Brass Fang or Rollins’s vague warning. He doesn’t confess his plan to seduce Barnes now and then every day the rest of his miserable life. She gives him the skirt he wants and he heads back to his apartment, already plotting the next few Fridays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i hope you enjoyed this. leave a comment, a kudos, or reblogging[chaos's tumblr post with the art from chapter one](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179382932886/barnes-leaves-his-hand-where-its-barely-touching). i'll see you again tomorrow morning_
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	5. attention, please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _you know the drill._

#  _attention, please_

 

Again, the week takes way too long to pass, but come Friday, Steve’s twice as excited as he’d been the week before. In getting ready, he spends ten minutes opening himself up, until he can push a silicone plug just less massive than Bucky into his body and have it rest there comfortably. In that time, he feels the temptation to break rules one and two and nearly does, until he recalls Bucky’s feral grin telling him that he could come and breaking the rules becomes less tempting than the thought of following them.

 

A different lowlife picks him up. This one Steve remembers the name of, given that he’s one of the few men he’s fucked for free in the past half a decade. Billy Russo tips an imaginary hat and smiles as he walks up.

 

“You look like you’re about to go to a drag race,” Russo jokes.

 

Steve shrugs. He’s wearing a sleeveless halter top cut just above the hips, the sides panels of black lace, a metal ring in the collar to bunch the fabric together before a strap wraps around his neck. His boots come up to his knees, red leather with four inch heels and he has a bomber jacket that matches. He's wearing the same oxygenated blood lipstick that will stay on for hours and nails like claws, this time a chain that connects the hoop in the cartilage of his ear to the stud in his lobes and a red velvet band around his neck. This isn’t odd for him. What catches Russo’s gaze is the skirt.

 

It’s short, falling only a few inches past his hips and if he bent over, his ass would be on full display. He’s wearing black thigh highs that stop below the hem, and the skirt is an iridescent, mother-of-pearl pink that turns heads. If he bent over, not only would be his ass be on full display, but all that he is and _isn’t_ wearing under it, too.

 

Russo has seen him in this skirt before. He smirks and reaches out a hand to push under its hem, and Steve smacks it away.

 

“Don’t make me late,” he warns.

 

Russo grins, shrugging. “You gotta be there at eight, right? It’s only seven twenty.”

 

“Just drive,” Steve says, pushing past him to get into the car. He won’t miss the guys who assume they got the right to cop a feel any time they like just because they’re the ones selling his favors.

 

Like everything else Brass Fang and its lowlifes have to offer, Russo is a pale imitation of Barnes, slouching in a shirt that’s wrinkled, jeans instead of tailored slacks, unshaven in a way that just looks careless. Steve looks out the window and keeps a straight face when Russo hits a pothole and the plug in his ass is jostled into a good spot.

 

Russo parks in front of Bucky’s building, but doesn’t unlock the doors to let Steve out right away. He peers out the side window while Steve crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows.

 

“Y’know, if I weren’t so attached to that tight ass, I’d encourage you to stick around Barnes,” he comments in mild awe.

 

Steve rolls his eyes, then reaches past him and unlocks the doors himself. Russo smirks.

 

“Lucky for me, I’m not very attached to you and your four inches,” Steve says, and gets out.

 

“You wound me, Stevie!” Russo shouts after him. Steve slams the door.

 

The doorman raises his eyebrows at him in mild shock.

 

“Steve Rogers,” he says before the doorman can ask.

 

The doorman opens the door, eyebrows still raised. Steve strides past, the hem of the skirt fluttering in the breeze of his stride.

 

He goes right up to the elevator this time. The receptionist looks up and her jaw drops to watch him pass, the operator of the elevator’s bored expression shifts, and Steve ignores them all.

 

“The penthouse,” he says, crossing his arms and standing with his weight on one leg. This time, he has an overnight bag.

 

“Thanks,” he calls over his shoulder to the operator when the elevator shuts behind him.

 

The foyer is empty. There are no voices, and Steve is not interested in waiting. He goes directly upstairs, finding the office door shut and the bedroom door open. He leaves his bag in the bedroom, then walks up to the office, heart pounding, and pushes open the door.

 

Bucky glances up once from his laptop, then looks up and leaves his gaze up. Steve smiles, proud, at Bucky’s dilating pupils.

 

“I hope you’re nearly done,” he says, walking up and past the desk. He puts a sway in his step, lets the skirt’s hem flow and the clear gap between it and the top of his stockings show. Bucky spins his chair around to face him, eyebrows high on his forehead and his gaze on Steve’s thighs. “I want your attention.”

 

“You have it,” Bucky says, shutting the laptop and putting it away.

 

Steve grins. Bucky’s hands reach out and he steps closer, until he’s standing between Bucky’s knees. Bucky looks him up and down, then his palm presses to the stocking on his leg. His gaze fixes on Steve's skirt as his hand slides under the hem of the skirt.

 

Steve does not slap his hand away, obviously. Bucky’s hand lifts the hem as he pushes his palm up further, then his eyebrows lift again as his hand continues up Steve’s leg and find no additional fabric in its path.

 

“Are you not wearing underwear?” Bucky asks softly.

 

Steve tilts his head to the side, grinning still. “Why don’t you check and see?”

 

There are the wolf’s eyes, the predator’s hunger. Bucky’s hand rests on the crest of his hip, then pushes around to his ass. He grins, too, slowly as his fingers find Steve’s skin bare. Steve lifts a knee and climbs into Bucky’s lap, the skirt lifting at the momentum to flare over his hips and thighs and leaves his ass exposed under it. Bucky’s hand cups his ass, then the other reaches up and presses to Steve’s throat. Steve lifts his chin, and Bucky gently squeezes both hands. His fingers trail farther in, then stop.

 

His grin turns hungrier. “You’re wearing a plug,” he murmurs.

 

“You asked me to,” Steve purrs. He puts his hands on Bucky’s chest, pushes up to start slipping the buttons free. “You wanna fuck me in your office chair, sir?” he asks in a breathy tone.

 

“You wanna get fucked in my office chair?” Bucky growls.

 

Steve presses their lips together and grinds down to answer. Bucky’s fingers dig into his ass, his other hand shifting to grasp his jaw, and Bucky takes control of the kiss in seconds. Steve takes his hands down until he’s pulled Bucky’s shirt free of his slacks, then thumbs open the button of his pants.

 

“Eager, baby boy?” Bucky asks. He moves his lips and Steve throws his head back so Bucky can bite and kiss his neck.

 

“I’ve had this thing in me for over an hour,” Steve says, grinding down again. “I didn’t break your rules, sir.”

 

“Oh?” Bucky says. His hand moves, abrupt, grabbing and Steve gasps. “Hmm. You gonna promise me you didn’t touch yourself?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers in an exhale, rolling his hips for friction. “Please, sir, please fuck me.”

 

“You’re dripping,” Bucky says, tone pleased, as his hand moves back around to run his fingers down the line of his ass. “This little thing’s not gonna be big enough to prepare you for me, is it, baby boy?”

 

“'S three inches 'round,” Steve whines. Bucky bites just below his jaw, toying with the end of the silicone, and he whimpers again.

 

“Really? You flatter me, doll.”

 

“Not long enough,” Steve mumbles. He presses into Bucky’s hand, his head still tilted back. “I can take you now anyway. Please?”

 

“You’ll take me if I say you can,” Bucky tells him, calm and unruffled, and Steve’s squirming against his hand. He gasps and hangs limp when Bucky slides the plug free, leaving him feeling open and exposed and empty. He hangs against Bucky’s shoulder while Bucky calmly pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket and lays it and then the plug on the desk, but lifts his head when he returns a hand to his throat.

 

“Let’s see, hmm?” Bucky tells him, pushing a hand back under Steve’s skirt.

 

He trails two fingers down the line of his ass and Steve drops his head back again. Bucky’s palm presses flat to his esophagus so that he feels it every time he swallows or even breathes. Bucky hums, thoughtful, and adds a third finger with ease. Steve rolls his hips, his lips parting for his mouth to hang open, and Bucky squeezes his throat.

 

“Before we get started, remind me what your safe words are?”

 

“Are ya gonna ask that every time?” Steve complains. “Brooklyn to stop, Jersey to slow.”

 

“I am going to ask every time," Bucky confirms coolly. "What do you do if you can’t talk?”

 

Steve grips the hem of his undershirt, ripping it up, then presses his palm to Bucky’s abs and taps three times.

 

“Very good, baby,” Bucky says and Steve pushes both hands up Bucky’s shirt to hug his waist. “You’re still tight,” he adds calmly.

 

“You gotta pop my cherry again, sir,” Steve reminds him with another roll of his hips. Bucky squeezes his throat again and he exhales a heavy sound.

 

Bucky taps his pinky against the line of his ass, making Steve gasp, then pulls it up.

 

“I think you’re ready,” Bucky says and Steve grins in relief. He reaches into a pocket and takes out a thin foil packet, holding it out to Steve. “Get my cock out, doll.”

 

Steve shudders once, rolls his hips, then hastens to move as Bucky pulls out his fingers. He finishes unbuttoning Bucky’s slacks, yanks on the zipper, pulls down on the waistband of Bucky’s boxers. He opens the condom packet with his teeth, since his hands are shaking now. Bucky relaxes in his chair, his hands pulling from Steve’s body to rest on the arms of the chair, and the chair tips back with his weight as he slouches to push his hips out.

 

“Fuck yourself on my lap, baby boy,” he orders Steve.

 

Steve lifts onto his knees, hands touching anything he can reach, until he sinks back down and moans.

 

“There you go,” Bucky says, “sweet little whore, second you got something up that greedy ass, you lose your mind.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve agrees, grinning. He rolls his hips, then tilts his head back, hoping for Bucky to reach up and grasp his throat.

 

“You want something, baby?”

 

“Yessir,” he mumbles, lifting his chin further.

 

“What do you want, baby boy?”

 

“Bucky,” he complains, his throat exposed like an invitation.

 

“What do you call me, baby?”

 

“Sir,” Steve corrects. He lowers his chin a moment, then lifts it again, inviting, but Bucky doesn’t move. He sits relaxed in his chair, watching Steve writhe without batting an eye. His wolf’s eyes are wide and dilated and predatory, but he sits calmly.

 

“You want something, you gotta ask for it,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve swallows, looking through his lashes to watch Bucky’s wolf’s eyes trail the movement down his throat, but Bucky doesn’t move. Steve’s not going to ask for that, Bucky’s just supposed to do it. So he rocks his hips faster, then grasps the arms of the chair with both hands and leans back. Bucky snatches his waist at last and Steve grins as he bends over backwards, using the new angle to get deeper, until he gets just the right spot and he moans again.

 

“Fucking hell,” Bucky mumbles and Steve laughs, a sigh cutting into it. “You done this before, baby?”’

 

“‘S amazing,” Steve says, vaguely agreeing, pulling and pushing, getting that spot again and again. “‘M very bendy, sir.”

 

“Fuck,” Bucky mutters again and Steve grins madly, eyes falling shut to keep going, to keep up the push and the pull to nail his own sweet spot over and over. Bucky curls an arm around his waist, then the other pushes up his chest and Steve feels satisfied pride when his fingers close around his throat that he didn’t have to ask after all. He feels Bucky’s thighs part under him, then Bucky’s gripping his hip and his hand leaves his throat to curl around his back again.

 

“Let go,” Bucky says.

 

Steve instantly releases his grip on the arms of the chair. Bucky catches his weight, Steve’s vision goes out for a second as everything goes deeper and harder, then Bucky’s standing. Steve trusts his arms and hangs in his grip, then his back is landing on a hard surface and Bucky’s gripping his hips to pull him flush against his body. Steve cries out, falling back on the surface as his arms drop above his head and Bucky slams into him. His hands close on the edge of it, nails gripping something with hardly any give. The desk. Bucky has him lying on the desk. Bucky’s fucking him on his desk.

 

Steve grins and locks his legs around Bucky’s hips.

 

“Open your eyes, baby boy,” Bucky growls. “Look at me.”

 

Steve rips his eyes open, finds Bucky’s wolfishly hungry gaze and grins, watching his own chest and fall in his panting. Bucky pushes his right hand up Steve’s body to reach his neck and Steve lets his head fall back, barely holding Bucky’s gaze, for Bucky to curl his fingers around his throat.

 

Bucky’s easily the best fuck Steve’s ever had; its an experience, not just a moment of fun. His whole body sings in pleasure as Bucky has his way, the threat of a chokehold on his neck drives adrenaline into his veins, the stimulation dumps endorphins into the mix and Steve is learning why young men are allowed short refractory periods. Bucky, nearing forty, has the stamina of an ox, and he’s still going long after most guys that get their dicks up Steve’s ass.

 

And Bucky looks down at him with his wolf’s eyes, with the predatory and possessive and proud hunger, and Steve is definitely addicted already.

 

“You getting close, baby?” Bucky asks in a growl.

 

“Yessir,” Steve gasps.

 

“I’m lovin’ your enthusiasm,” Bucky says. “That you plopped into my lap and were ready for my cock right away just like I asked. You’re doing so good at listening, baby.”

 

“Can I come?” Steve asks breathlessly. “Please, sir, can I come?”

 

“Not yet,” Bucky growls and Steve whines. “I want my fun first.”

 

“Can I come if you come?” Steve asks. “Please, sir, can we come at the same time?”

 

Bucky hums, like he’s considering, and squeezes his fingertips on Steve’s throat. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’re such a slut for cock I can make you finish by coming myself.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve promises, even though he’s never done that before.

 

“My little cockslut,” Bucky growls and Steve’s entire body shudders. “You’re so good at taking my cock, like you were born for just this.”

 

“Yessir!” Steve sighs.

 

“I want you so wrecked all you can say is _yes, sir,_ ” Bucky half spits out, and then – _then,_ marvel of all marvels, he starts going _harder._

 

Steve cries out, gasps, moans, does all three at once or repeats them, and Bucky’s palm presses almost too tight to his throat, an illusion of a choking.

 

“I want you so fucked out,” Bucky says, “you don’t remember your name, baby boy. Then I’m going to come all over your tight little ass and then you can come.”

 

“Yessir!” he moans.

 

Bucky’s getting what he wants; Steve’s brain is clocking out cell by cell to give in to the onslaught of bliss. His toes curl in his boots. His nails dig into the wood of the desk. He’s going to scratch the finish, but he doesn’t care. He’s close, so close to tipping over the edge and Bucky’s still hitting his sweet spot over and over, rough and fast and hard, and Steve’s sure he’s unable to speak at all alone get out the words _yes, sir._

 

“That’s what I like to see, baby boy,” Bucky growls above him. “That’s real good, baby, you’re fucking excellent at this, lookin’ gorgeous and just fuckin’ _takin’_ it.”

 

“ _Sir,_ ” Steve gasps, and he doesn’t even have words to follow it.

 

“There you go,” Bucky praises, “pretty slut can’t think. That’s just what I want, baby.”

 

“ _Yessir!_ ”

 

“You wanna come, baby?”

 

“ _Yessir!_ Yessir, yessir, yes –”

 

“Not until I had my finish, baby.”

 

Steve is crying, now. He’s gasping, tears leaking from his eyes, and Bucky grins, wolfish. His fingertips squeeze and Steve chokes on nothing, then Bucky’s grunting and folding over his body.

 

“Come,” he growls into Steve’s exposed stomach.

 

Steve gasps and his pleasure bursts. He’ll have to dry clean Darcy’s skirt before he gives it back, a vague thought in the back of his head says.

 

Bucky’s hands pass over his body. They push under his shirt and sweep over his chest. Fingertips run over the dips between his ribs. Bucky’s lips touch his navel, suck on the piercing for a second, then move on to suck marks into his chest. Steve’s hands release the desk, his nails feeling raw from digging into the wood.

 

“I think I scratched your desk,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Good,” Bucky says, then crashes their lips together.

 

Steve coils his arms around Bucky’s neck, pushing one hand under his shirt and the other into his slicked back hair, breaking the gel and messing it up. Bucky pushes his hands under Steve’s waist, then lifts up, picking him up off the desk’s surface. Steve clings to his neck and shoulders, kissing him with an open mouth, letting Bucky fuck his mouth with his tongue.

 

Bucky sits down again, Steve still anchored in his lap by his swollen knot. Bucky breaks the kiss, ducks into his neck and Steve lifts his chin to invite him in. Bucky nudges his nose against the line of Steve’s throat, almost scent-marking him.

 

“Fine?” Bucky mumbles, his movements stopping.

 

Steve nods. Bucky kisses his throat and nuzzles his neck. Steve’s never been scent-marked by anyone other than his mother before, or not with his consent, but this feels… nice. This non-sexual attention, this pure affection from Bucky still manages to hit something in the back of his brain and make him want to go limp and purr, compounding his post-coiital buzz. Bucky lets up after a few seconds, settling back against the sofa. Steve lets his brain come back online and looks around; they’re in the parlor now, Bucky’s sprawled on the couch and leaning against its arm.

 

“I’m hungry,” he says then.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “I’m not cooking right now.”

 

Steve slips his arms past Bucky’s waist to hang on his chest. “Take-out’s fine,” he mumbles.

 

Then he sits up again and pulls his jacket off, tossing it off to the side. Bucky smirks a little.

 

“‘M hot,” Steve says in his defense. He looks over his shoulder to tug his boots off, dropping them onto the floor, then flops against Bucky’s chest again.

 

“How’s Chinese?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve nods into Bucky’s neck. His nose brushes Bucky’s skin and he considers something. Bucky pulls his phone out of his pocket and Steve presses his nose into Bucky’s neck. Carefully, he nuzzles his face into Bucky’s skin to scent-mark him.

 

Bucky’s hand touches his back, almost absently, and rubs up and down before pushing under Steve’s shirt to rest against his skin. Steve smiles to himself, relaxing as Bucky mindlessly pets him.

 

“I’m spending the night,” Steve says then.

 

“Sure,” Bucky answers. “You like anything in particular?”

 

“Hot and sour soup.”

 

Bucky pecks his temple, then. Steve shifts to watch him ordering the food on his phone, fighting fatigue. He feels remarkably comfortable there, even though Bucky’s knot is still swollen in his body and usually Steve tries not to let that happen. He feels warm and satisfied, pleased by Bucky’s hand brushing up and down his back.

 

“When I can pull out, I have something to give you,” Bucky says abruptly.

 

“Is it my nightstand?” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky chuckles. “No, but I got you one. It’s a present.”

 

Steve furrows his brows and purses his lips, hidden by Bucky’s jaw. He hadn’t anticipated Bucky wanting to give him gifts so quickly.

 

“Mmkay,” is what he ends up saying. He tucks his face into Bucky’s shirt collar. “Wake me up later.”

 

Bucky chuckles again and Steve ignores it, focusing on his palm caressing gently up and down his spine. He falls asleep quickly, he always does, and now he falls asleep breathing the calming scent of cigar smoke, expensive soaps and cologne, and the fresh scent of Bucky’s skin like woodsmoke. He could fall asleep like this every day. Soon enough and if all goes well, he will fall asleep like this every day.

 

When Bucky nudges him awake, Steve sits up and yawns. He frowns, wriggles a bit in Bucky’s lap to test the give, then laughs when Bucky sucks in a breath and grabs his hips.

 

“Do I get my present now?” Steve asks. He lifts up, off Bucky’s lap and tugs his skirt over his bare ass.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows, then goes about straightening his own appearance. He pulls his undershirt over his abs, removes the condom and ties it off, then stands up without fixing his shirt.

 

“Upstairs,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve reaches up and pecks him on the cheek, then yelps and giggles when Bucky smacks him on the ass as he darts away. Steve grabs the banister, runs up the stairs, and at the top pauses, to see Bucky leaning on the banister with a smile. He’s thrown out the condom already.

 

“What?” Steve asks.

 

“I think you’re gonna have to come over in no underwear more often,” Bucky says carefully.

 

Steve sucks in a breath, a grin growing as he recognizes the wolf’s eyes. Bucky takes the stairs slower, then grabs him by the waist and presses a kiss to his lips. Steve coils his arms around Bucky’s neck, melting against his body, as Bucky’s hands pass from his waist to his hips and under the skirt to squeeze his bare ass.

 

Bucky pulls back, leaving Steve panting. He brushes at Steve’s bangs, now only holding him by the waist. “I like looking up and seeing what’s mine.”

 

Steve grins, purposefully shy, and lowers his lashes so he can look up at Bucky with coy hesitance. “Do you?”

 

Bucky only flicks his eyebrows up. “Have you thought any about my request?”

 

Steve thinks carefully about what to do next. He pushes his tongue between his lips slowly, draws it back in and bites his lower lip, then drags his teeth across his lip intentionally. He leans back in Bucky’s grip to pull their hips together but their chests apart. He lifts his chin, as though without meaning to.

 

Bucky looks first at his lips, then at his neck.

 

“A little,” Steve says softly.

 

“And?” Bucky prompts, tone measured. Calculating. Hungry. And, though it’s very well hidden, a level of lonely.

 

“I don’t know yet,” Steve murmurs. He pulls a little closer, lifting onto his toes, to curl a lock of Bucky’s hair around a finger. “I’ve never done something like that," he admits, using technical truths to his advantage. "Been in a serious relationship like that.”

 

“Take your time,” Bucky reminds him, once again handing the power into Steve’s inviting posture.

 

Steve drops his gaze to Bucky’s lips and nods. “Thank you,” he whispers, still looking at Bucky’s lips. He tips his head up a little more.

 

Bucky leans down and presses their lips together, in a gentler kiss than any they’d ever shared. Steve, again, melts, but now with a purpose. His words will infer hesitance, but his body language is saying _yes._

 

Despite his plan to draw out the chase, his heart is already saying _yes, sir._

 

Bucky pulls back from the kiss, their lips disconnecting slowly, and Steve sinks back onto his heels. He leaves his gaze on Bucky’s mouth, which is by now made pink by the transfer of Steve’s matte lipstick, so his eyes are heavily lidded, and Bucky lifts a hand to touch his mouth with a thumb. Steve kisses it, too.

 

“You take your time,” Bucky murmurs again, like he’s read Steve’s body language and knows that he will say yes. Steve nods, as though he’s gone mindless again, and Bucky squeezes his waist. “You want your present or what?”

 

“Yes,” Steve says with a grin and slips from Bucky’s grip. “Where is it?”

 

Bucky points towards his bedroom and Steve darts away to duck into it. Bucky follows, slower, while Steve sits down on the bed to wait. He glances over his shoulder once and smiles, pleased, at the sight of a nightstand on both sides of the bed.

 

Bucky picks a small box off the dresser. It’s black with a white bow stuck on top, but isn’t wrapped. Steve takes it, settles onto the bed with his legs crossed, and works the top off the box.

 

Inside is a phone. A brand new iPhone X.

 

Steve looks up at Bucky with parted lips, but this time it’s genuine.

 

“Your phone is shit,” Bucky says with a shrug. “It’s prepaid and everything.”

 

“Brass Fang pays for it,” Steve mumbles then. He looks back at the phone. He picks it up from the molded foam and runs his fingers over the cold surface of the screen, turning it in his hands.

 

“You can pick out a case for it later,” Bucky adds. “It’s already activated, on my account, and it’s got all my cards on it, so if you ever need something, you can just get it.”

 

Steve’s eyes nearly pop out of his head at that. He gapes at the phone. Bucky has just handed him his credit cards. Steve hasn’t even said yes to him yet!

 

He swallows carefully, pressing his lips between his teeth. He hasn’t said yes yet. Bucky could be trying to just buy him at this point.

 

He ignores those thoughts. Bucky can try and buy him if he wants, Steve’s already made up his mind and he’s just holding out to tease. And really, Bucky has already bought him, by purely having the money to do so.

 

So he looks up at Bucky and grins, shifting onto his knees to get more on his level. “Thank you, sir,” he says, and kisses his cheek.

 

Bucky touches a hand to his waist, eyes searching his face. Steve barely parts his lips, then Bucky’s leaning in and claiming his mouth again. Steve shuffles on his knees until he’s pressed to Bucky’s lean body, arms curling around his neck, and the brand new phone held in his fist.

 

He can’t wait to text Darcy about this. She’ll be so jealous.

 

Then Bucky lifts him off the bed and sets him on his feet. With one arm. Steve is thrilled.

 

“Go downstairs and find a movie to watch,” Bucky tells him. “The food should be here soon.”

 

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, not moving.

 

“I gotta finish up a couple of things,” he says. Bucky pats him on the ass, squeezing briefly, then turns him towards the door. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

 

Steve pouts while Bucky ducks back into his office. But he goes downstairs and drops onto the sofa to turn on the TV and find a movie. Then, glancing at the stairs, he grabs his jacket off the floor and tugs his old phone out of the pocket. Darcy won’t believe this.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_You’re about to get a text from a new number_

_Ok?_

 

With a grin, Steve tosses the old, prepaid imitation of a smartphone onto the sofa cushion and powers on the brand new iPhone X. He knows Darcy’s number by heart, so when the phone powered on and loaded, he simply opens messages and drafts the first text this phone would send.

 

**_718-663-7415_ **

_Bucky gave me an iPhone X_

 

It takes a second for her to reply and Steve enters her number into the contacts. He would have thought that the contacts book would be empty, but there is one there already.

 

He draws his legs up under him with a grin. The contact is another New York number, labeled **_Sir_** _._ He’s definitely going to abuse having Bucky’s number.

 

The phone dings, the generic Apple text tone. He'll have to change it, it’s annoying.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_Steve?_

 

Steve is still grinning as he answers.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_Yep! From an iPhone X._

_I want a Barnes._

_Nope. Mine. ;P_

 

Steve continues to grin at nothing. He grabs the TV remotes, taps his chin as he thinks of what to watch. He opens Amazon Prime and scrolls through popular movies for a minute, then flops to the side on the sofa to make a face at the TV; none of them look that interesting.

 

They could watch _Fifty Shades Darker._ Though, Steve’s not sure Bucky would appreciate the joke. In the end, he picks the new _Jumanji_ because he wants to see Dwayne Johnson’s biceps on Bucky’s massive TV.

 

Bucky’s still upstairs, so he works on moving over his contacts. He doesn’t bother transferring Rumlow or Garrett’s numbers, a few exes and he’s already added Darcy. He adds his mother’s number, even though she’s been dead seven years. A minute after he’s just finished transferring his contacts, the elevator behind him dings. Steve sits up, having ended up sprawling on the sofa, and a delivery boy frowns before waving.

 

“Uh, order for Barnes?” he says.

 

Steve purses his lips. “He’s still in his office,” he says. “They just let you in?”

 

The delivery boy shrugs. “The big dudes are still in the elevator,” he says, pointing. Steve leans to look behind him, and there are two men in suits and sunglasses standing with their arms folded to likely hide the shape of their pistols under their jackets. “‘Sides, I come here three or four times a week. Mr. Barnes tips good,” he adds with a grin.

 

Steve shrugs and gets up. The delivery boy’s eyes bulge at the sight of his skirt and thigh highs, but Steve ignores this and takes the bag of food from him.

 

“Uh, can you sign?” the boy asks, holding out a receipt and pen. Steve takes it, signs at the bottom, then taps the pen against his lower lip to think about a tip.

 

“How much does he usually give?” Steve asks, looking up. Considering Bucky gave him twelve hundred for sitting in his lap, he has no clue.

 

“Thirty bucks,” the delivery boy says, grinning.

 

Steve nods, then tips sixty. The delivery boy grins bigger at the receipt when Steve hands it back, then waves as he gets back into the elevator. Steve puts the bag on the coffee table, then looks up at the balcony with his hands on his hips.

 

He checks the time on his new phone, then takes the stairs up and walks into Bucky’s office.

 

“Hey,” he says, rapping his knuckles against the door once to catch Bucky’s attention, “the food’s here.”

 

Bucky glances up, then back at his laptop. “Gimme a minute.”

 

Steve curls his lip downward, then walks around the desk and spins Bucky’s chair around. Bucky blinks, raising his eyebrows at the angle where his laptop was.

 

“It’s been half an hour,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Bucky looks up at him finally, then leans back in his chair and raises his eyebrows further. “I said, gimme a minute,” he says firmly.

 

Steve makes a displeased face. He puts a knee by Bucky’s leg and plops into his lap, effectively blocking his access to his work. “The food will get cold,” he says insistently. “I got _Jumanji_ off Amazon. Punch out.”

 

Bucky’s expression is mildly amused or mildly disbelieving. Or both. “You meant it when you said you was gonna interrupt me whenever you wanted, didn’t you?”

 

“Duh,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky lets out a quiet laugh, huff, or loud exhale. He lifts his arms to lock his fingers behind his head, lips curling in a disbelieving manner.

 

“Alright,” he says, “let’s have a chat about that.”

 

Steve crosses his arms over his chest again, giving him an unimpressed look. “I ain’t rolling over if you’re only gonna pay attention to me when you want sex.”

 

Bucky laughs, then drops his arms to catch his waist and tug him in for a quick kiss. Steve retains the unimpressed look. “Alright, alright, I ain’t gonna ignore you all day ‘til I’m horny, but I do seriously got work I gotta do,” Bucky says. “If I got a meeting or I’m in the middle of business, I can’t drop everything to watch a movie with you.”

 

“It’s past ten,” Steve complains.

 

“I know, I know, and I’ll come downstairs,” Bucky says, giving his waist a squeeze. “But like last Saturday? If that hadn’t been my people, you might have messed up the meeting.”

 

“Quit having meetings on Saturdays,” Steve counters.

 

“How about this,” Bucky offers, “if I’m in a meeting or I’m doin’ business and it’s during the day, just wait, okay?”

 

“If it’s before seven and after eight,” Steve says. “Weekdays only.”

 

Bucky makes a face, like he wants to argue, and Steve curls his lips downward again, leaning back from him. Bucky sighs, rolling his eyes, and Steve pokes him in the chest.

 

“You work too much,” he says, and Bucky makes another disgruntled face, “isn’t it s’posed to be my job to make you relax?”

 

Bucky flicks his eyebrows up. “It can be,” he says, reminding Steve that he hasn’t said _yes_ yet.

 

“Well, if we’re doing this,” Steve says, “you work too much and it’s almost eleven on a Friday.”

 

Bucky smirks. “Nat keeps telling me the same thing, y’know?”

 

“And no getting up before noon on Saturdays,” Steve adds, remembering last weekend.

 

Bucky flat out laughs, then locks his arms behind Steve’s back and stands up. Steve grabs him around the neck, putting his legs around his waist, and allows himself to be carried down the stairs to the parlor.

 

“How are you liking the phone?” Bucky asks, putting Steve onto the sofa.

 

“It’s great,” Steve says, grinning. “I texted my friend Darcy, she’s jealous.”

 

Bucky smiles, sitting down next to him and reaching for the bag of food. “Oh, did you leave a tip?” he asks, pausing to look back at Steve.

 

“Yep,” he says. “Boy said you tipped thirty, so I tipped sixty.”

 

Bucky raises one eyebrow. “That’s more than the actual order, y’know.”

 

“What?” Steve says in his defense. “I like spending your money.”

 

Bucky snorts, unpacking the food. “Did you buy or rent this movie, then?”

 

“Buy,” Steve says happily. Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve helps him to unpack it, then Bucky gets up and returns a minute later with spoons and two forks. He starts the movie and Steve takes the pint of hot and sour soup, settling against the couch cushions. Bucky flops next to him, a container of lo mein in hand, then nudges him with his knee. Steve glances at him, then Bucky drops his free arm, the lo mein in his lap, onto the back of the couch. After a second, Steve realizes that Bucky’s posture is now inviting.

 

Steve shifts, until he’s settling against Bucky’s side. Bucky drops his arm to curl around his shoulders, and Steve finds he likes the way his body heat seems to reach down to the marrow of his bones.

 

Dwayne Johnson’s biceps look magnificent on Bucky’s massive TV. Steve gets through the hot and sour soup and a little orange chicken before he starts feeling ill, then just curls into Bucky’s ribs to watch the movie. When it’s over, he’s falling asleep, and Bucky picks him up again. Steve’s enjoying being carried, and Bucky carries him up the stairs to settle him on the bed.

 

Steve yawns, sitting up, then points toward his overnight bag by the dresser. Bucky glances over his shoulder, then laughs softly and goes to get it. Steve takes it, digs around for his kit bag, then heads for the bathroom. Bucky follows, finally removing his unbuttoned dress shirt. Steve sets to wiping the makeup off his face while Bucky brushes his teeth, the two of them standing side by side at the vanity and sharing the single sink.

 

“You’re not doing anything tomorrow, are you?” Steve asks, going for his own toothbrush. He steals some of Bucky’s toothpaste instead of using his own.

 

Bucky shrugs. “I got some people coming over for a talk, then I got a meeting uptown.”

 

Steve pouts. “I was hoping we could be lazy.”

 

Bucky laughs again, shaking his head and bending to rinse his mouth. Steve raises his toothbrush, then pauses to yawn.

 

Bucky kisses his temple with a sharp smack and Steve blinks a few times, startled, while Bucky pats his ass and turns away.

 

“Saturdays are for laziness!” Steve calls after him. Bucky laughs again. Steve rolls his eyes and brushes his teeth.

 

He puts away everything but the toothbrush, which he sticks into the holder next to Bucky’s. He’s got another one at home. Walking back into the bedroom, he finds Bucky lounging on the bed in his boxers, holding a tablet and frowning at it. Steve pulls pajamas from his bag, an overlong shirt, plus briefs, then tugs his shirt over his head.

 

Bucky glances up once, then lowers the tablet while Steve pushes the skirt off his hips. Steve flicks his gaze up, smiles, and rolls off the stockings.

 

“Enjoying the view?” he asks.

 

“Immensely,” Bucky answers. Steve smiles a little wider, dressing again.

 

Halfway through pulling on his underwear, Steve sees the tee shirt folded on the end of the bed. Snapping the waistband of his briefs, he straightens up, looking at it, then picks it up instead of his own shirt. He pulls Bucky’s shirt on, smooths it out, then puts away the shirt he’d brought. Bucky returns his gaze to his tablet, lip curled at the corner. Steve crawls under the blankets, sets his new iPhone onto the nightstand and goes to look for a charger, before spotting a wireless one. Feeling fancy, Steve sets the phone on it, and the screen lights up, a light _bloop_ announcing that the phone is charging. He flicks off the lamp on his side, then settles against the pillows.

 

Bucky’s reading something on his tablet, and when Steve shifts closer, lifting onto an elbow, he sees that it’s a spreadsheet.

 

“Bucky,” he whines, “quit working for five minutes, will you?”

 

“Just a second,” Bucky says. Steve scowls, watching him checking figures or something. He sits up fully, the neck of the overlarge shirt slipping off his shoulder, and prods Bucky’s chest.

 

“Cuddle me,” he demands.

 

Bucky exhales through his nose, checks the time on the tablet, then, shaking his head, locks the screen and sets it aside. He switches the lamp off, does something on his phone to make all the other lights turn off, then settles into the bed, an arm unfolding towards Steve. Steve takes up the space Bucky’s opened up, draping an arm over his waist, and shuts his eyes to breathe in.

 

The scents of cigar smoke and expensive cologne are gone now, having been in Bucky’s clothes and not his skin, but still he smells like rich soap and woodsmoke. Bucky’s skin is warm and smooth, the light hair on his chest and stomach soft, and Steve can feel his pulse thrumming under his nose. He lets his palm rest flat on the swell of Bucky’s pectoral muscle, feeling the heat, like perfumed steam, permeate the pores of his skin to work out the tension in his shoulders and neck. Feels it seep down and settle into the red marrow of his bones, like it’s attracted to his blood and longs to bind to his new cells. Like it’s as lonely as its maker and wants to cling to him even when they part. He inhales, deep, his body slipping from consciousness with woodsy warmth enveloping him. Without the sounds of the city that never sleeps to keep him up, Steve falls asleep listening to Bucky breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _there has been a miscommunication between my team and the mods for Cap Big Bang so i may be posting the remaining chapters all today or by tomorrow night. idk. please leave a comment if you enjoyed this and consider reblogging chaos's art from chapter one. bye for now_
> 
>  
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	6. wolf's teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yep communication errors have struck us but the situation is resolved. i'll be posting this and one more chapter today and then three chapters per day until november 1st, where you'll get chapters 23 and 24, and then chapter 25 will be posted november 3rd. right now, we're introducing some new friends and there's more plot unfolding, so i hope you enjoy_

#  _wolf's teeth_

 

Like the week before, the bed is cold when Steve wakes up. He sits up, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, then drops his arms to let his shoulders sag as he scowls at the divet in Bucky’s pillow. He hears voices in the office again and scowls harder when he checks the time; it isn’t yet nine, again.

 

He grabs a pair of loose shorts that he’d packed on a whim and tugs them on under Bucky’s shirt, not wanting to wander without pants in case Bucky has guests, then steps out of the bedroom and heads for the office. The door’s open, there are people arguing, and Bucky sees him stick his head in. He sits with his feet up behind his desk, smoking a cigar and scowling, until Steve catches his eye and it becomes a placating look. He waves a hand, cigar tucked between his fingers and trailing smoke, in a dismissive gesture and Steve only scowls back.

 

They are not the three men and Romanoff from last week, though Romanoff is here. She’s sitting on the edge of Bucky’s desk and picking at her nails with a knife. She’s sitting on the edge of her boss’s desk, the desk where just last night Steve was splayed out for Bucky’s pleasure, and she is confident, like she belongs there. There are faint scratches in the finish next to her thigh that match the wear in Steve’s acrylic nails.

 

Steve pushes into the room, the talk disrupts, and Bucky makes a displeased face at him. Steve ignores the face, but Bucky takes his legs off the desk when he approaches and Steve takes up the space in his lap, where he legitimately belongs. He glares out of the corner of his eye at Romanoff, who’s smirking at the knife under her unmanicured nails.

 

Francis is there, and now that Steve’s looking, he knows the other two men.

 

“So, not only you butting in on my sons’ business, you stealing their hos,” Erik Stevens says to Bucky with an angry gesture to Steve.

 

Erik, alongside his cousin, runs the southeast side of Queens in a recreation of the Black Panther Party. They used to deal with Rumlow and with Garrett before him. They, they being the assorted lowlifes and mobsters of New York, call him Killmonger, on account of the fact that he’s unofficially credited with the deaths of over fifty crooked cops in NYC’s police department alone.

 

Normally, Erik’s a cool guy. He’s the only other male Omega Steve knows, which makes them some sort of allies. Normally, Erik’s not as pissed as he so clearly is now and isn’t so rude. Steve turns into Bucky’s collar with a glower, because he’s a slut, not a ho.

 

“You’re overstepping your bounds,” Bucky snaps.

 

“You killed Rumlow over nothin’!” Erik counters with a snarl.

 

“I killed Rumlow ‘cause he was pushing drugs in a high school!”

 

“So you shoulda left it up to me! I’m they backer, bitch!”

 

Steve peeks out for a second, just in time to catch Romanoff letting the knife in her grip fly and embed itself into the Oriental rug at Erik’s feet.

 

“Hey, hey, watch your ballerina!” Erik snaps, jumping away from the seven-inch blade buried in the floor in front of him. Bucky clucks his tongue, turning his head to puff on his cigar with a displeased set to his jaw.

 

“Watch your mouth,” Romanoff snaps back.

 

“I’ll talk how I like!” Erik retorts.

 

“Natasha,” Bucky says, as though annoyed, “prekratite razrushat' moi veshchi.”

 

He gestures to the rug with his cigar, the smoke trailing off its end to settle through the air and land on the bare skin of Steve’s forearms and thighs.

 

“Yesli vash gost' perestanet oskorblyat' vas,” she answers with a dark look towards Erik.

 

“Hate it when you do that,” Erik grumbles.

 

“Learn Russian,” Francis tells him.

 

T’Challa, Erik’s cousin, puts a hand on Erik’s shoulder. “Perhaps we ought to be questioning why Mr. Barnes felt it necessary to step over our heads and insert himself into Brass Fang’s business,” he says in a calm tone. Steve likes the Beta better of the two Black Panthers. Plus, he’s got a lovely accent from having grown up in Africa.

 

“Aight,” Erik says, still sounding angry, “fine. Mr. Barnes, if you would so kindly explain why you had to butt your fucking nose in.”

 

Bucky’s hand, the cigar tucked between his index and middle fingers, comes to rest on Steve’s knee, a casual move that, when Steve looks up again, appears to have been missed by both T’Challa and Erik.

 

“Do you know, I don’t actually have to explain myself to you,” Bucky says.

 

“You are taking a significant portion of Fang’s profits,” T’Challa argues, gently, though. He and his cousin have been compared to the Yin and Yang of Queens, with T’Challa’s quiet and Erik’s spitfire. “Forty percent. That leaves them only a little after giving Black Panther our share. They have families to support.”

 

“No, we don’t,” Steve says. He sits up. “Maybe, like, four of us have kids and even fewer have parents dependent on us. Most of Rumlow’s boys were douchebag rejects from JROTC and the rest are just gangsta wannabes. Brass Fang ain’t nothing since Garrett left, we sure as hell don’t have anybody to hold up.”

 

Jessica and maybe a few dozen other of Fang’s hookers and lowlifes are supporting drug habits, but that’s not the same thing.

 

“Barnes, tell your ho to stay out of the grown-up’s business,” Erik snaps.

 

“T’Challa, tell your cousin to suck my dick,” Steve retorts. It’s his go-to move to get Erik to shut up for five seconds, though he’s usually saying it directly to Erik. Usually, Erik isn’t acting like a five-year-old and knows better than to insult Steve like that. He’s particularly pissed this morning, little that Steve cares. Steve is particularly pissed this morning. It’s not even nine and here the Black Panthers are anyway, interrupting what Steve had hoped would be a mildly lazy morning before he left and Bucky went back to work.

 

Francis snorts, covering his mouth with a fist. A corner of Romanoff’s lip curls. Erik glares at him, as he usually does in response to Steve’s trademark move. T’Challa adopts a very small smile, that of a man enjoying seeing his cousin dissed. Bucky, on the other hand, is not pleased. He takes a drag of his cigar, then blows smoke out towards Erik’s pissed expression.

 

“If you ain’t gonna respect my people, I’m gonna send you out to wait in your car while the grown-up’s talk,” Bucky says to Erik. He flicks ash into a crystal tray, face like stone looking at Erik. “Hear?”

 

Erik opens his mouth, and T’Challa sets a hand on his shoulder. Erik stops, mouth open in a snarl so that his gold teeth shine, then shuts it to glare.

 

“I apologize, Steve,” T’Challa says, bowing his head to him. “My cousin has no filter, as they say.”

 

Erik continues glaring. Steve sticks his tongue out at him, and Erik’s glare doubles. He can’t do anything, though. Right now, Steve belongs to James Barnes, so nothing and no one can touch him.

 

Steve settles against Bucky’s collar, since it’s where he belongs, and smiles immature and smug in the face of Erik’s glare. Once upon a time, if Steve had acted so petty, Garrett would’ve smacked him upside the head before Erik could crawl over the table and make good on his threats of _why you little –!_ But here, Steve is free to be petty. Erik got Bucky out of bed before noon on a Saturday, and Steve hasn't had any coffee let alone enough to deal with Erik Killmonger throwing his weight around.

 

“Apology accepted,” he adds, just to rub it in a little more.

 

T’Challa, still amused, pats Erik on the shoulder, who’s still saying _why you little –!_ with his eyes. “To return to our point. We would appreciate it if you demanded less of Brass Fang.”

 

“We’re friends, ain’t we, T’Challa?” Bucky asks. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I ain't letting Brass Fang do nothing much longer. I’m getting them off the streets.”

 

Even T’Challa looks surprised.

 

“What the fuck, man?” Erik spits, gold teeth flashing again.

 

“I don’t like the way they do business,” Bucky answers, completely calm, unruffled, but his hand is tightening on Steve’s knee. “Selling to kids, hiring kids? Did you know that? Did you know they hired kids?”

 

“What do you mean?” T’Challa asks carefully.

 

“What the fuck do you think I mean?” Bucky shoots back, and he’s snarling again. His hand, the one not holding the cigar, curls around Steve’s waist and grips tightly. Steve lifts his gaze again, schooling his own features, but neither T’Challa nor Erik seem to notice.

T’Challa looks shocked, again. Erik looks sickened.

 

“Say what now?” Erik says, like he doesn’t want Bucky’s words to mean what he thinks they mean. Steve turns back into Bucky’s collar with his nose wrinkled. Erik knows how old he is, he knew how old he was when they first met five years ago. It’s not that hard to believe.

 

“Fang hired underage Omegas to work the sex circuit,” Bucky spits out. “I know Garrett did it a hundred percent, I’m assuming Rumlow did it, ‘cause he’s that kinda scum. I really doubt Rollins is letting those kids go now. So I’m taking them out.”

 

“You should be leaving this to us,” T’Challa answers, tone careful again.

 

“They’re in my territory,” Bucky counters.

 

“You act like all New York’s your territory,” Erik snaps.

 

“All New York _is_ my territory,” Bucky replies sharply. “How’s the rent on your building, Killmonger? I set it low ‘cause that neighborhood’s got plenty of single mothers on welfare. How’s the upkeep on your community centers? I pay to keep ‘em clean. This is _my_ city.”

 

“What do you plan to do with Fang’s money?” T’Challa asks before Erik can say something else in anger.

 

“Open a rehab center.”

 

“What ‘bout our money?” Erik says, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Take it,” Bucky says, shrugging his right shoulder, as though careful not to dislodge Steve. “I got enough in bribes alone to make sure it’s running smooth.”

 

“I can accept that,” T’Challa says. Erik still looks pissed, but Steve assumes that it’s because he’s unhappy with having to relent without shooting something. “Can you promise that Fang’s employees will have job security elsewhere?”

 

“Those that don’t get arrested, sure,” Bucky says. “I always got room in my docks and offices.”

 

“And Fang’s hos ain’t getting locked up,” Steve adds, giving Erik a look.

 

“Clearly you got yourself a cushy job as a lapdog,” Erik retorts.

 

“Hey!” Bucky snaps. “Watch your mouth or leave!”

 

Steve smiles, and Erik glares. They act like children, Erik driven to immaturity by his anger and Steve still close enough to a child to be given the excuse of too fuckin’ early on a fuckin’ Saturday to act petty. The difference is that Erik’s immaturity is quietly smacked upside the head by his cousin and Steve’s pettiness is defended by a snarling wolf.

 

“We clear?” Bucky continues, speaking to T’Challa again.

 

“We’re clear,” T’Challa answers, but his knuckles have lightened where he’s gripping Erik’s shoulder. “But know that if you attempt to interrupt our business again, we will not take it so calmly.”

 

Erik curls up his lip to bare his teeth, gold canines catching the light. T’Challa makes the threats, Erik carries them out, as always.

 

“I’ll interrupt if I see fit,” Bucky says, unaffected by the threat. “You boys take better care of your sons and then I won’t have to.”

 

T’Challa’s calm expression tightens and Erik leaves his teeth bared, but not even the Gold and Silver Panthers can touch James Barnes. Steve stretches a little, yawning like a fox, and settles further into Bucky’s collar. Romanoff draws another knife from somewhere hidden on her person and flips it, the shine of the metal setting streaks of white as it spins. Francis polishes the barrel of a gun Steve hadn’t seen him draw. Bucky remains unruffled.

 

“We appreciate you taking action to address Rumlow and Garrett hiring underage Omegas,” T’Challa says in a cold tone, and he makes the thanks sound like an insult. “We will look into our other subsidiaries for similar unsavory business. We will allow you to take out your anger on Brass Fang, but any other interruptions, we will not allow.”

 

“Fellas,” Bucky says, and he says it with mocking, “you ain’t allowing nothing in my town.”

 

T’Challa raises his eyebrows. Erik curls his lip once more, then turns on his heel and stalks out. T’Challa, however, steps forward and holds out his hand for Bucky to shake. Bucky flicks his gaze down to T’Challa’s palm, then leans forward, disrupting Steve’s position in his lap, to set his cigar in a crystal ashtray. Then he claps his palm to T’Challa’s, pumping it once, before drawing back to set his hand back on Steve’s knee.

 

T’Challa, then, brushes off his palms, as though wiping away the ash of Bucky’s cigar. Steve narrows his eyes, but he respects the man’s guts. T'Challa nods his head to Steve and leaves. Francis follows them out, spinning the trigger hold of his gun on his pinkie.

 

Upon the distant sound of the elevator leaving, Romanoff throws her knife and it embeds itself into a dart board.

 

“Hey, hey, quit messing up my shit!” Bucky snaps. “I already had to replace that sideboard once!”

 

“That man makes my teeth hurt,” Romanoff snaps.

 

“Killmonger or T’Challa?” Bucky asks shortly.

 

“Both!” She strides up to the dartboard and wrenches the knife out, then grabs the first out of the rug. “Makes compliments into insults. Motherfucker’s too smooth for his own damn good.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes, because even with all the times he’s told Erik to suck his dick, he still knows how to play the Black Panthers. “You gotta learn how not to piss off Killmonger if you wanna keep T’Challa’s sharp tongue in his mouth.”

 

Romanoff shoots him a look. “What do you know?” she says. She flips the knife in her palm, eyes angry on him now.

 

“They’re a pair,” Steve counters, before Bucky can fight this battle for him. He doesn’t like Romanoff right now and he wants her to know it. “T’Challa thinks of him like a little brother that he’s got to keep out of trouble and twice as protective.”

 

Romanoff draws back her nose, lips curling down but her teeth don’t flash at him. He belongs to her boss, so she can’t touch him either.

 

“And, you gotta treat Erik with the same respect you give his cousin the smooth motherfucker,” Steve says, sharpening his tone like he’s calling Romanoff blind. “He ain’t T’Challa’s translator, quit acting like he is.”

 

“T’Challa’s the one we handle business with,” Romanoff snaps.

 

“So you piss of Erik on the daily,” Steve says back. “They’re partners, treat ‘em like they are! Piss off Erik, you piss of T’Challa, you got him wiping his hands clean after he shakes yours.”

 

He relaxes against Bucky’s collar, watching her sharp eyes flash.

 

If Bucky is a wolf and Rollins is a magpie, then Romanoff is a spider, venom dripping from her fangs and the knives in her palms. Right now, even though all eight of her eyes are flashing at him, Steve lies under the wolf’s paws. Bucky is ready to bare his teeth at his own spiders.

 

“Leave,” Bucky snaps to Romanoff.

 

Romanoff sets her shoulders, her fingers twitching around the handles of her knives, but she must know that she can’t attack in any manner while Steve lies under Bucky’s shadow. She turns sharply and slams the door on her way out.

 

Bucky’s fingers trace his jaw and Steve reflexively bares his throat.

 

“What’d I say about you interrupting business?” he asks in a quiet, dangerous tone.

 

Steve thinks carefully about his next move. He licks his lips, looking at Bucky’s mouth, and lets the back of his head rest on Bucky’s shoulder so his throat is exposed fully and he’s looking up at Bucky through his lashes.

 

“It’s the weekend,” he says. “I agreed not to interrupt during the week.”

 

Bucky’s expression is closed. His wolf’s eyes are pissed, not predatory.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Steve mumbles, turning his head to hide his face in Bucky’s collar.

 

“You had dealings with Black Panther before?”

 

The question takes Steve by surprise. He turns his face out again and catches calculation in Bucky’s wolf’s eyes behind the anger.

 

“They back Brass Fang,” he says carefully. Cautious like T’Challa, just in case the anger in Bucky’s eyes is aimed at him. “Plenty of times, yeah.”

 

“You had dealings with other bosses, gang leaders, the like?” Bucky asks then. “Cottonmouth, Gargan, Gao, Kilgrave or Kingpin?”

 

Steve shrugs a shoulder. He’s met all of the people Bucky mentioned, some only in passing, a few for favors and a few for business. They’re all newcomers to the scene, with the exception of Madame Gao, people that Bucky won’t have met when he was a fresh face in the mob, but they’re people who gained power quick.

 

Cottonmouth, head of Harlem’s Paradise, is almost as dangerous as Bucky, but with fewer resources. Gargan is a drug lord, and Fang pushes his stuff most of all. Madame Gao, the big mama of the Order of the Crane and Chinatown, calls him her white boy grandson and always complains that he’s too skinny. Kilgrave’s a genuine creep; he runs hallucinogens that even Gargan won’t touch, but he’s popular in the rich kid’s scene. Kingpin’s the man keeping Hell’s Kitchen independent of the Seyrbakov family’s influence, he and Garrett spent time in Vietnam together back in the day. He’s also a creep, but only because he’s genuinely way too old for Steve at 57 and has bought favors off him before.

 

“Garrett got around,” he says. “Before he got arrested, he was trying to teach me how to be his second.”

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “So how come Rumlow got charge instead of you?”

 

Steve shrugs again. “Rumlow already was his second, him and Ward were tied for it. Garrett wasn’t trying to pass it around that he was gonna kick ‘em. Not like I had any position to fight ‘em for it.”

 

Bucky’s finger trails down his jaw, until he grips Steve’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You got skills other than cocksucking, do you, baby?”

 

Steve lets a slow smile curl his lips. “I wasn’t doing business for Garrett ‘cause I could suck dick.”

 

Bucky’s wolf’s eyes are turning proud now. His lips curl, then he pulls Steve’s face in to kiss him sharply. When he lets go, Steve sags against his shoulder with a satisfied smile.

 

“T’Challa’s usually leaving here more irritated than he did today,” Bucky says. “And Killmonger ain’t usually shut up so easy. I think you oughta be attending more of my meetings.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve whispers.

 

Bucky sets a hand on his thigh, then pushes it up to curl under the hem of his shorts. “But I don’t want you comin’ in your PJ’s, doll. I don’t like sharing you more than I have to.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve repeats, and Bucky gives a firm nod before leaning in to kiss him again. Bucky’s fingers push under the hem of his underwear, gripping his ass, his tongue pushing down to his throat as he kisses Steve, and Steve curls an arm around his neck to relax under Bucky’s possessive kiss.

 

He breaks it a moment later, pulling his hand out of Steve’s clothes to pat his thigh. Steve gets up, stretching again.

 

“Go get dressed,” Bucky says, standing as well. “Then come downstairs. Time you properly met Natasha so you two ain’t glaring daggers at each other.”

 

Steve’s lips curl downward. “I’ll glare daggers at her if she’s gonna sit on your desk like that.”

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with Natasha sitting on my desk?”

 

Steve raises both of his eyebrows, then steps past Bucky and hops onto the desk. There, he lies back and spreads his legs, fitting his nails into the scratches he’d left the night before.

 

Bucky moves to stand between his open thighs, palms sliding up his body. He’s smirking. “I see,” he murmurs. He bends and kisses Steve’s stomach. “You’re getting territorial.”

 

“You spend lots of time with her,” Steve says, letting irritation color his tone. Bucky pushes the shirt he’s wearing, Bucky’s own shirt, up to kiss up his chest, but Steve will not be moved. “She’s pretty," he says, "she throws knives, you know her well.”

 

“Natasha is a sister to me,” Bucky murmurs into his bare skin. “You ain’t my brother, Stevie.”

 

Steve slips his body down the desk until their hips are pressed flush together. “No, sir,” he says.

 

Bucky kisses up his neck, then his mouth. Steve lifts his hands off the desk to curl them into Bucky’s hair.

 

“You’re mine, baby boy,” Bucky growls against his lips. “Nobody else is.”

 

Steve breaks the kiss, catching his breath, then tips his head back. Bucky kisses along his neck again.

 

“I might be,” he whispers. Bucky pauses. “I think I want to be.”

 

Bucky bites a spot just under his jaw and Steve smiles. Then Bucky straightens up, grabbing Steve by the waist and picking him up, then tugs him off the desk. Steve lands on his toes and Bucky pulls him against his chest.

 

“Stay again tonight,” he says, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “I don’t work on Sundays. We can be lazy tomorrow.”

 

Steve swallows, then tucks his forehead under Bucky’s chin so he doesn’t have to see his face. “I can’t,” he mumbles. “I have to work still.”

 

Bucky’s hands tighten around his waist.

 

“I don’t want Rollins to know I’m thinking about leaving,” Steve adds quickly. “He’s already pissed as it is that I’m not working Fridays.”

 

“Rollins doesn’t own you,” Bucky growls.

 

Steve presses his face into Bucky’s neck, standing on his toes, then shakes his head. “Fang does own me, Buck. I owe them.”

 

“How much?” Bucky demands. “I’ll pay it off.”

 

Steve shakes his head again and Bucky’s arms are circling around his waist to hold him tighter. “I don’t owe them money,” Steve says carefully. “I owe them my life.”

 

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “The fuck you mean you owe your life?”

 

“I mean I owe my life,” Steve answers. “Fang has custody of me. Garrett pulled me out of the foster system and he manipulated the papers so the gang owns me.”

 

Steve had been a scarred and vulnerable kid, hardly 17. Garrett had been a gentle and kind soul, offering a way out and he hadn’t bothered to read all the fine print. He’d grown to accept and like his position in Brass Fang, until Garrett was arrested and Rumlow took over. Steve had gone from being Garrett’s protege to worth only his looks in a day. Rumlow had always taken more money off him, restricted his activities outside of work, kept an annoyingly close eye and a firm grip on him. He exploited the fact that he owned Steve wherever possible.

 

Bucky’s fingers curl into his body to ball bunches of his shirt into his fists. “You’re of age now," he says, sounding confused. "Omegas don’t belong to their Alphas in the States, that law got pitched decades ago.”

 

Steve shakes his head again. “Garrett fixed the papers so he’d have custody of me even after I hit 18, some loophole that I didn’t see ‘til it was too late. He passed them to Rumlow when he got arrested, somehow Rollins got them before you killed Rumlow.”

 

“Fuck,” Bucky spits.

 

“But if you put the whole gang in jail, the deal’s off, nobody to hold custody over me,” Steve says hastily, then hesitates, swallowing, voice trailing off as he goes on. “Or… Or if I live with you,” he adds. “They can’t touch me even if they own me if I belong to you, loophole or no loophole.”

 

“Then come live with me,” Bucky says. “Dammit, Steve, stop dragging this out. Come to me. Be mine.”

 

Steve hides his face, his own hands curled into fists to wrinkle the back of Bucky’s collar. He knew he could only draw out the chase as long as the wolf wanted to chase him, but he shouldn’t have told Bucky that Fang owns him. Clearly, Bucky doesn’t want to chase him if he’s chasing him into a magpie’s nest.

 

“I know you already made up your mind,” Bucky whispers now. “C’mon, Steve.”

 

Slowly, Steve nods. Bucky exhales sharply, a hand shooting up to cup the back of his head and cradle him against his body.

 

“I still don’t want Rollins to figure out that I’m leaving,” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s collar. “I still have to work until I can get all my stuff out of the apartment.”

 

Bucky nods. “That’s fine. I can send people to your place to move stuff slowly.”

 

“I’ll bring it on Fridays,” Steve says.

 

“If your driver asks why you got a bigger bag?”

 

“I’ll just say it’s whips and chains,” Steve says easily. Bucky gives a dry laugh. “I don’t have that much stuff. It should only take a couple weeks.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky murmurs. He kisses the top of Steve’s head. “Alright. I’ll wait on you a little while longer.”

 

Steve nods into his collar. Then Bucky pulls back, a hand going to his jaw, and pulls him into a kiss. Like last night’s kiss at the stairs, it’s gentle.

 

“Go get dressed,” Bucky says. “You brought somethin’ other than that skirt, right?”

 

“Duh,” Steve mutters, pulling away now. He feels cold for it, but internally shakes himself to rid himself of the feeling. “I wear that for special occasions only.”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows as Steve steps backwards towards the door. “Last night was a special occasion, was it?” he asks, his lips curling.

 

“Anytime I get your dick is a special occasion,” Steve says, grinning. He opens the door, blows Bucky a kiss, then slips out of the office, walking back into the bedroom. His heart is pounding. His hands shake as they pull new clothes from his overnight bag.

 

He belongs to James Barnes, now. For real. It’s a little sooner than he’d planned, it’s a lot sooner than he’d planned, but Steve is still happy to lounge in Bucky’s shadow. He, the fox, will lie on his back between the wolf’s claws with his throat bared. Now the wolf’s teeth, bared in a snarl and salivating in either hunger or anger, will threaten magpies and spiders and panthers, alike.

 

He dresses in skinny jeans and a loose blue shirt that hangs down to his hips, the sleeves covering his knuckles. He doesn’t wear short sleeves very often. He puts the red velvet choker back in his bag, leaving his throat bare for the wolf’s teeth. He’d slept in his earrings, and the chain is getting heavy, so he put it away and slips on red Chuck Taylors, old and falling apart from years of wear, since his boots are still downstairs. He takes the brand new iPhone off the wireless charger and slips it into his back pocket.

 

He goes downstairs, a hand resting on the banister. He sees shadows in the kitchen and hears voices, so he goes into the kitchen.

 

Francis has put away his gun, yet Romanoff still picks at her nails with a knife. Steve walks up to Bucky and curls an arm around his waist, and Bucky sets an arm around his shoulders as if without thought.

 

“Alright,” Bucky says, interrupting Francis, “Steve’s going to stick around so it’s time you two introduced yourselves.”

 

Romanoff narrows all of her eight eyes at him. Steve rests his head on Bucky’s waistcoat, smiling pleasantly at her, a fox’s false smile.

 

“Clint Barton,” Francis says, however. Steve looks at him.

 

“I thought your name was Francis?” he says in confusion.

 

Then Romanoff laughs and Francis, apparently called Clint, scowls.

 

“It’s his middle name,” Romanoff says.

 

“Oh,” Steve mumbles.

 

“This is because you keep calling me by it,” Clint says with an accusatory finger pointing at Bucky.

 

Bucky shrugs. “It’s a stupid ass name.”

 

Clint scowls some more. Romanoff sheathes her knife, then holds out a hand to Steve.

 

“Natalia Romanoff,” she says. Her eight eyes are no longer narrowed, but they are still guarded. “My friends call me Natasha.”

 

Steve takes her hand. “My full name’s Steven, but usually people call me whatever they want.”

 

She smirks again, the guarded look in her eyes morphing into amusement. “I think we’ll call you Steve.”

 

“Boss calls you baby boy, apparently,” Clint adds.

 

“Shuddup!” Bucky snaps and Clint laughs.

 

“Boss can call me whatever he wants, too,” Steve says with a grin. He drops his hand from Bucky’s waist to tuck it into the back pocket of his slacks. He can be possessive, too. “I’m just happy to have his attention finally.”

 

Bucky squeezes his shoulder.

 

“We going to brunch or what, boss?” Natasha says then. She crosses her arms over her stomach, just under her breasts, and raises her eyebrows.

 

Bucky glances down at him. “You got time for brunch?” he asks.

 

“I always have time for brunch,” Steve says. “But considering that it’s not even ten, it’s well within the period of breakfast.”

 

Clint laughs and Bucky makes a face. “I was expecting to have to deal with the Panthers a while longer,” he says.

 

“Well, now you haven’t,” Steve says. “Breakfast.”

 

Clint is still sniggering and Romanoff’s lip is curled.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbles.

 

“By the way,” Clint says, and Steve redirects his gaze. “Excellent diss of Killmonger. Legendary. That’s going on my tombstone. _Tell your cousin to suck my dick._ Priceless.”

 

Steve lets out a laugh. “Works every time.”

 

“Come on,” Bucky grumbles before Clint can question Steve’s response, “let’s just go get breakfast. Go get your stuff, doll, I’ll drop you off after.”

 

He turns Steve and pushes him towards the door. Steve turns and stops in the doorway, presenting his cheek. Bucky exhales, either amused or a little annoyed, and kisses his cheek. Steve is pleased either way. He turns and runs back up the stairs to get his things.

 

He leaves his toothbrush in Bucky’s bathroom. At the stairs back down, he pauses, hearing voices in the kitchen that have gone frustrated.

 

“You’re probably old enough to be his father!”

 

“He’s twenty-three, Natasha –”

 

“Bucky, she has a point, you said yourself the kid got sucked into this business when he was too young for it, how can you be sure he’s not just using you to get out?”

 

“And before you know it, he’s riding off into the sunset with half your money in alimony?”

 

“Nat, what – I’m not planning to _marry_ him –”

 

Steve curls his lips in a scowl. He’s planning to marry Bucky, but certainly not to divorce him.

 

“You know I know that you butted into Brass Fang to get _him,_ not ‘cause they were selling coke to kids!”

 

“Natasha, drop it!”

 

“I think you’re thinking more with your dick than you are your brain, and that’s not like you!”

 

Steve takes the stairs down quietly, setting his bag by the sofa and heading for the kitchen with soft steps.

 

“Natasha, I did not get where I am to just throw it out on a kid with a cute ass, do not berate me for what I’m choosing to do in my private life!”

 

“That’s my point, he’s still a kid!”

 

Steve steps into the doorway of the kitchen. Natasha shuts her mouth with a snap and schools her expression. Clint looks down at his scuffed boots, raised eyebrows and thin lips. Bucky glances over his shoulder, then turns around with a closed expression.

 

Steve walks up and slips into his side despite Bucky not reaching for him. Bucky sets a hand at his waist and Steve gives Natasha an unimpressed look.

 

“I haven’t been a kid for a very long time,” he says. “Of course I’m using Bucky to get out of Brass Fang.”

 

Natasha’s eyes snap wide open. Clint glances up at him, then at Bucky.

 

“But I think he’s probably using me for something, too,” Steve continues, “so what does it matter if we’re using each other? I don’t give a shit about his money and I’m not planning on tricking him into marrying me so I can divorce him.”

 

“But you admit you’re using him,” Natasha says.

 

“Bucky,” Steve says, looking up at him, “are you using me to vent frustration that you can’t express in other areas of your life? Since you feel like you don’t have the time to actually work on creating a real relationship with someone on your level and I’m an easy target as a young and broke hooker?”

 

Bucky opens his mouth, then shuts it, looking uncomfortable, most of all by the phrase _easy target._ Steve speaks bluntly, but it's nothing more than the truth. He is an easy target. Steve looks back at Natasha, raising his eyebrows.

 

“This is symbiosis,” he says. “We’ll use each other for mutual benefit. I assume when he’s tired of me, he’ll put me up somewhere where I can’t talk to press or police and move on to the next easy target. I’m fine with that. It gets me out of Brass Fang; they haven’t been treating me right since Garrett got arrested and, frankly, I’m sick of it.”

 

Steve glares at Natasha, who glares back. He does not betray that he intends to make sure Bucky never tires of him. This is symbiosis; he, as the fox, will dance to keep the wolf’s interest, and Bucky, the wolf, will bend over backwards to keep him fed and dancing. A feedback loop, but it’s not greed that fuels Steve’s motivations and it isn’t lust that fuels Bucky’s.

 

“Kid has a point,” Clint mumbles.

 

Steve raises his eyebrows further at Natasha. “Can we go to breakfast now?”

 

She shrugs, shaking her head. “Whatever. Fine.”

 

“Go get the car,” Bucky says to the two of them. Clint walks out of the kitchen with his hands in his pockets, Natasha follows with a glare aimed at the ground. Steve looks up at him, and for once, leaves his chin lowered to protect his throat.

 

“You know as well as I do that this isn’t love,” he says. “It’s opportunity. And yes, I want to be yours because you have money and you can take care of me, but I’m not interested in taking your money and running. I’m interested in eating more than ramen for every meal because it’s all I can afford.”

 

They are not two of seven deadly sins, but two of five requirements for life, liberty, and happiness, shelter and companionship.

 

“I’m not trying to use you,” Bucky counters.

 

He raises a hand and cups his jaw. Steve searches his gaze for anger, but finds only something he doesn’t recognize. It isn’t predatory. It isn’t possessive, or proud, or pissed. But it looks gentle, so he lifts his chin.

 

“I don’t intend to cast you aside if I get tired of you,” Bucky continues, gentle, not very wolfish. “I don’t intend to get tired of you, either. If we aren’t meant to work out long-term, and I’ll admit I don’t really anticipate that we will, I’ll make sure you don’t end up back in Fang’s custody, okay?”

 

Steve simply nods. He fully intends to remain where he belongs, in the shadow of James Barnes, for the rest of his life.

 

Bucky presses their lips together, in the gentle kiss that Steve’s learning means Bucky is trying to express something through his own body language and Steve just isn’t getting it yet. He presses their lips together, doesn’t slip his tongue into Steve’s mouth, and brushes his thumb over the edge of his jaw. He presses their lips together slowly, then pulls back slower, so that for a moment, they’re standing there breathing the same air.

 

“You don’t really eat ramen for every meal?” Bucky says then, looking disbelieving.

 

Steve laughs. He sags against Bucky’s chest, burying his face in the silk of his waistcoat, and Bucky’s arms hang around his waist.

 

“Ramen and protein shakes,” Steve says. “Occasionally eggs. McDonald’s when I have the spare cash.”

 

“Fucking hell,” Bucky mumbles. “How are you so skinny?”

 

“Funny, lots of exercise,” Steve mumbles. “And two meals a day.”

 

Bucky stiffens. Steve lifts up to look at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Is that…” Bucky pauses, looking guarded again. “Is it because you can’t afford more than that? Or…?”

 

“Oh,” Steve says. “Um. Well, used to be. I quit diet pills a year ago, though.”

 

Bucky nods slowly. “You’re okay?”

 

Steve just nods. “My friend Darcy, she helped me pull out of it. Now, I just can’t afford much.”

 

“Jesus,” Bucky says, still looking concerned. He digs his wallet out of his pocket, then presses a plastic card into his palm. Steve blinks at the credit card for a second. “Buy some actual food, Stevie.”

 

“I’ll do that,” he promises. Bucky squeezes his waist.

 

“C’mon, let’s go,” he says. “You got your stuff?”

 

“Yeah, it’s out here.”

 

He pulls away from Bucky, leaving to get his bag from the parlor. He grabs his boots and jacket, lying on the floor by the sofa, and shoves the boots into his bag before donning his jacket. Bucky tugs on a jacket over his waistcoat, buttons it and holds out a hand to the elevator. Steve steps up and reaches for his tie, straightening it. Then he yanks on it, bringing their mouths together in a hot kiss. He’s uncomfortable with the gentleness in what are meant to be the eyes of a wolf, he’s disturbed by the contrast of kind and predatory, and he’d rather keep the predatory.

 

Bucky grips his waist, then his hands trail down to squeeze his ass. Steve steps closer, so their bodies align. The kiss lasts a minute longer, then Bucky pulls back to run a hand over his hair and grin.

 

“That’s what I’m keeping you for,” he says, voice low, dripping chocolate. “‘Cause you kiss like you’re about to drop to your knees every time.”

 

“I’m tempted,” Steve whispers, leaning up still so his words are a breeze on Bucky’s lips.

 

“Don’t tempt me,” Bucky says, his grin widening so his gold canine gleams.

 

“Can’t help it, sir,” he answers, then drops back onto his heels and steps back. “It’s what I’m keeping you for. You make me want to drop to my knees all the time.”

 

Bucky’s wolf’s eyes finally flash predatory, Steve grins and turns for the elevator. Bucky’s hands slide around his waist, he bends and Steve leans his head to the side so that Bucky can kiss his neck.

 

The elevator opens. The operator, not the usual basic white man, doesn’t even bat an eye. Bucky gives Steve a swat on the ass, Steve starts and steps into the elevator, followed by Bucky and his looming shadow as he swings an arm over Steve’s shoulders.

 

“Lobby, thanks, Mac,” Bucky says to the operator.

 

Mac the operator operates the elevator. Steve doesn’t really give a shit. He turns into Bucky’s suit jacket, then slips a hand into his back pocket. He’ll be possessive, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _look at stevie being possessive. comments/reblogs are our lifeblood so pls consider giving us some. i hope you enjoyed this and we'll see you in the next chapter later today. ttyl and ily._
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	7. who's your little friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _did you enjoy seeing the black panthers? you ready for another guest? here we go!_

#  _who’s your little friend?_

 

They walk out into the marble lobby together, James Barnes with his Omega under his arm, and they turn heads. Steve sees a teenager raise her phone and turns his head away so only his profile will be caught, and he imagines that this will be all over the Internet and tabloids by sunset. James Barnes doesn’t date, he’s never been caught with an Omega or a woman or anyone like he’s never been convicted. The thought that he’s the one to break the pattern sends a chill down Steve’s spine.

 

The doors are opened for them and there’s a stretch Cadillac idling at the curb. Bucky opens the door of the car for him and Steve slips inside, taking a seat. Natasha and Clint already seated, alongside two nondescript men in suits and sunglasses, who Steve assumes are bodyguards. Bucky climbs in behind him, settling in the edge seat and draping his arm over the back of the bench. He doesn’t look at him, but Steve takes his posture as an invitation. He settles into Bucky’s side, setting a hand on his thigh, possessive.

 

The car moves without Bucky needing to give it direction. Bucky’s hand comes off the back of the bench to rest on Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Are you old enough to drink?” Natasha asks abruptly.

 

“I’m twenty-three,” Steve answers shortly. "Bucky told you that already."

 

Natasha’s face is impassive. She leans back and looks out the window. Clint looks a little uncomfortable.

 

“Where are we going?” Steve asks, tilting his head towards Bucky.

 

“Caviar Russe,” Bucky says, looking out the window as well. His hand hangs limply around Steve’s shoulder. He’s hardly paying any attention to Steve.

 

Steve would wonder if he were pissed at him, but for the kiss and predatory eyes just before getting in the elevator. So he assumes that Bucky is somehow otherwise distracted and sets about remedying it.

 

He shifts closer, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and begins swirling the tip of his index finger over the curve inward of his thigh. He lets his hand slip a little, until he’s swirling his finger over the inseam of Bucky’s trousers.

 

Bucky remains looking out the window. There’s a tight set to his jaw like he’s pissed, only Steve knows that it’s not at him. He flicks his gaze over at Natasha, sitting in front of the partition, and assumes that it’s with her. But Bucky isn’t looking at him or petting him or paying attention to him because of it and Steve is salty about it. It’s petty, or childish, but in two nights he’s gotten addicted to James Barnes’s attention and withdrawal sets in fast.

 

He lifts his hand off of Bucky’s thigh to touch it to his chest. Bucky glances down, then finally looks at him. Steve hooks his fingers into Bucky’s tie and tugs a little, not hard enough to bring Bucky’s lips to his own, only enough to indicate what he wants.

 

Bucky flicks an eyebrow up.

 

Steve pouts, then tugs again.

 

Bucky’s lips curl at the corners, then he leans in and kisses Steve’s forehead. Which wasn’t what Steve wanted, but it’s better than nothing.

 

“I’ve never heard of Caviar Russe,” he says while Bucky’s lips linger on his forehead. “What’s it like?”

 

“It’s fancy shit,” Bucky says, a smirk growing on his lips. “You like spending my money, so you’ll like it.”

 

“It isn’t even open at this hour,” Clint calls. Bucky’s gaze flicks away and Steve tightens his fingers on his tie.

 

“Fancy,” Steve echoes. Bucky kisses his temple. He relaxes his grip on his tie, feeling sated, and tugs his phone out of his back pocket to scroll through Instagram.

 

On unlocking the screen, he gets a text.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_Boo I got coffee cake from the chick down the hall you wanna hang out?_

 

Steve wrinkles his nose a little, sad that he’s missing Darcy’s neighbor’s coffee cake. It’s fucking good coffee cake.

 

_I’m going to breakfast with Bucky, soz._

_Ooh, breakfast the day after, was the dickin just as good_

 

He hears Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, like he’s reading over his shoulder. Steve replies with that in mind.

 

_It was nirvana, so just as good_

_XD_

 

Bucky laughs softly again and kisses the top of his head. Steve grins to himself, curling against him. He switches apps, signs into Instagram and starts to scroll mindlessly. The drive takes another twenty minutes, and when they stop, Steve looks up to see that they’re on Madison Avenue.

 

“Wow,” he mutters.

 

The bodyguards get out first, walk around the other side of the car to open their door. Bucky slips his arm from Steve’s shoulder and slides out, holding out a hand as he turns back around. Steve takes it, letting Bucky help him out of the stretch limo. Natasha and Clint exit behind him, the bodyguards take up the rear, and Bucky leads them up to the restaurant.

 

Clint was right, it isn’t open yet. Bucky knocks once, a minute goes by, then a waiter opens the door.

 

“Mr. Barnes,” he greets, bowing at the waist. “You’re early.”

 

“Business finished early,” Bucky replies, and says nothing else. The waiter bows them in. The bodyguards stay near the door and they’re lead to a table in the center of an empty dining room. It’s already set, so Steve guesses that the waiter’s _you’re early_ act was just that, an act. The restaurant knew they were coming. The waiter doesn’t offer menus as they shed jackets and sit, but returns a minute later with a tray of champagne glasses and Steve assumes that, as this is apparently a regular occurrence, the staff know what Bucky wants.

 

The waiter hesitates a moment before setting a glass of champagne in front of Steve, but doesn’t ask for his ID. Steve simply takes the glass and sips at it. Clint starts talking to the bodyguards, who don’t talk back, about basketball and then football, as if just to fill the silence. Natasha has picked up her knife and is spinning it over her knuckles. Steve’s starting to figure out that it’s a nervous habit. Bucky takes out his phone and starts frowning at it. There’s an empty seat at the table, with a champagne glass at hand.

 

Plates of poached eggs with hollandaise sauce, lobster, and flaky biscuits are set before them, even at the empty place. Bucky glances once at them, then at the door, then returns to scowling at his phone. Clint picks up his fork and starts eating, but Natasha continues spinning the knife over her knuckles and Bucky scowling at his phone. Steve doesn’t touch his fork.

 

“Who are we waiting on?” he whispers to Bucky.

 

Bucky glances up at him, then returns his gaze to his phone. “An associate,” is all he says. Steve is still pissed about this morning and this does not endear him any. He sips at the champagne and wishes this fancy shit restaurant would serve coffee like normal people. He’s not going to ask for it, though. This place is too quiet. He’ll get Starbucks later.

 

“Are you going to eat that?” Clint asks of Natasha.

 

She flips the knife into her palm, like she wants to stab it into the table, and gives Clint a look out of the corner of her eye. Clint puts up his palms in surrender. “Just asking,” he mutters. He glances once at Steve.

 

“I don’t like lobster,” Steve says, and pushes his plate away. Clint happily takes it, setting it on top of his empty one.

 

Bucky finally looks at him. “Who doesn’t like lobster?” he says.

 

Steve shrugs. “I prefer burgers,” he says, though the truth is he’s allergic to shellfish and he isn’t sure if lobster counts since he’s never had lobster as an option. He doesn’t want to find out, at least.

 

Bucky’s expression remains suspicious for a moment, then his lip curls. He puts down his phone and slings his arm over the back of Steve’s chair. Steve takes another sip of his champagne, now pleased.

 

There’s a knock behind them. The waiter and one of the bodyguards go for the door, then return with a third man trailing behind. Steve raises his eyebrows at Tony Stark, then at Bucky.

 

“An associate,” he repeats out of the corner of his mouth. “An associate?”

 

Bucky shrugs. Like Tony Stark didn’t just walk into the restaurant, actually wearing jeans and a ratty AC/DC tee, Tony Stark. A legitimate billionaire. Legitimate as a weapons manufacturer can get. Steve takes a sip of his champagne and wishes for coffee again.

 

“Barnes,” Tony Stark greets, spreading his arms. There’s engine grease, or what Steve assumes is engine grease considering Stark’s origins as an engineer, on his elbows. “And friends.”

 

He raises his eyebrows at Steve. Steve calmly sips his champagne. He didn’t get where he was to be visibly ruffled by a legitimate billionaire.

 

“Little friend?” Stark goes on, looking at Bucky.

 

“Sit down,” Bucky says, like he’s annoyed.

 

Clint surreptitiously wipes his plate with a finger to lick up the hollandaise. Natasha elbows him without looking. Stark moves around the table and plops into the empty seat, noticing the champagne with a delighted but surprised expression. He takes the glass and downs it in one.

 

“So,” Stark says, putting it down. “Jericho.”

 

“I’m not selling it to the Taliban,” Bucky replies easily. Steve chokes a little on his champagne, he recovers quickly, but Bucky drops a hand onto his back and rubs between his shoulder blades a few times anyway.

 

“But you know who is?” Stark says. He’s ignoring his eggs benedict. Natasha has finally begun eating hers.

 

“I have a few ideas,” Bucky answers. He picks up his fork and cuts into the poached egg. Yolk streams out, runny and bright.

 

Looking at it, Steve thinks abruptly of Rumlow. Watching his life stream out of his head, runny and bright, only a different primary color, the affectation of roses. He looks away.

 

“You got a few ideas on who robbed my warehouse?” Stark asks, putting his greasy elbows on the white tablecloth.

 

Bucky scoffs, raising his fork to his mouth and pausing to say briefly: “Who else?”

 

Steve sets his elbow on the table and props his face on his fist, looking into his half-empty glass of champagne. He had thought that brunch was supposed to be, well, _brunch._  Mimosas and BLTs. He’s getting champagne, no coffee, lobster and a business meeting.

 

“Klaue?” Stark says, then hits the table.

 

Steve startles, blinking hard.

 

“Motherfucker,” Star spits out.

 

Bucky nods, swallows. “Motherfucker,” he agrees. He pats Steve’s back once, and he’s placated a little to know that Bucky is at least devoting a little of his focus to him still.

 

“Alright, Plan B,” Stark announces.

 

Bucky scoffs again. “I’m not having Klaue killed. He’s useful.”

 

“He’s stealing my shit!”

 

“I’ll get you your money, don’t worry, Tony.”

 

Stark points a finger at him, hand otherwise curled into a fist, his expression tight. “It’s the principle!”

 

Bucky shrugs. “Eat your appetizer, Stark.”

 

Stark glances down, then picks up his fork and stabs at his poached egg, making the yolk stream out runny and bright. Steve picks up his champagne glass and sips it. He sets it down to yawn. Bucky glances at him, then leans back and snaps his fingers. The waiter hurries over.

 

“Can I get a French press?” he says, but his tone makes it a demand and not a request.

 

The waiter bows. “Would you prefer a light, dark, or medium roast, Mr. Barnes?”

 

“Ehh,” Bucky says, then looks at Steve. “How do you like your coffee, doll?”

 

Steve starts. “Uh… Black?”

 

“Dark,” Bucky says to the waiter. The waiter bows once more and vanishes into the kitchen.

 

“I prefer light roast,” Natasha grumbles.

 

“Get your own coffee,” Bucky tells her.

 

Steve smiles and Bucky’s hand lifts to drape over the back of his chair once more. He leans back, so the back of his neck rests on Bucky’s sleeve, and settles his hands in his lap to wait for his coffee.

 

“What are you doing about Klaue?” Stark asks, having finished his eggs benedict.

 

“I’m gonna beat his ass and make him wish his ma taught him some fuckin’ manners,” Bucky answers. He eats more slowly, with more class in his movements than his vocabulary. “You’ll see him somewhere in six months with black eyes still. Probably the butthole of the ‘stans, so he can see Jericho in use by the Taliban in person.”

 

Stark works his fingers over his fork, like he’s considering Bucky’s offer. “A year.”

 

“I can do that,” Bucky says. He lifts his hand off the back of Steve’s chair and holds it out to Stark. Stark claps their palms together, pumps Bucky’s hand twice and lets go. Bucky returns his hand to the back of Steve’s chair, and neither of them brush their hands clean afterwards.

 

Steve doesn’t know what Jericho is, but Klaue is a weapons dealer who deals in shadier business than the Seyrbakov family, so it’s not hard to guess that Jericho is some new massive weapon developed by Stark Industries.

 

“So, who _is_ your little friend?” Stark says then.

 

Bucky lifts his hand and reaches underneath his jacket. He pulls out a revolver. “Smith and Wesson, Stark, you know that.”

 

The waiter, who had just stepped out of the kitchen with a silver tray in hand, looks disturbed by the gun in Bucky’s hand.

 

“You know what I meant,” Stark says dryly.

 

Bucky spins the gun on his finger and calmly puts it away. The waiter approaches with the tray now.

 

“Your French press coffee, Mr. Barnes,” he says, setting the single-serve French press onto the table, handle already plunged.

 

Bucky points to Steve, and the waiter shifts to put the French press next to him. He sets a small china mug and saucer in front of Steve and pours the coffee for him. When he walks away, Steve lifts the cup, leaving the saucer, and inhales before he sips. He’s done coffee tastings before, but he’s not slurping in this quiet restaurant.

 

“Barnes,” Stark says.

 

Bucky clearly is set on ignoring Stark. “Good?” he asks Steve.

 

Steve nods, taking another appreciative sip. He prefers this to champagne, if he’s honest. Bucky gives a nod, expression neutral, and returns his hand to the back of Steve’s chair. Steve leans back again, taking his cup with him.

 

“You’re ignoring my question,” Stark says, now snapping his fingers. “I’m not playing this game. Quit making doe eyes, Barnes. What’s gotten into you?”

 

“Stark,” Bucky says, exhaling heavily. He looks over at him, raising his eyebrows. “Shut the fuck up.”

 

Stark blinks. Steve smiles into his coffee. Bucky finally finishes his eggs, then raises his other hand and waves to the waiter. Two waiters come then, collect plates and vanish, two more replace them with new dishes, crepes topped with blueberry sauce and powdered sugar. Steve’s had crepes a whole four times in his life, all of which were at Bob Evans and none of which were since his mother died and he entered the foster system, but even the memory of Bob Evans crepes makes these look excellent.

 

“Since he’s ignoring me, who are you, kid?” Stark asks. Looking directly at Steve. Who’s raised his fork halfway to his mouth. He puts it down, trying to look a little more dignified than Stark.

 

“Steve,” he answers.

 

“Like, an intern Steve or…?”

 

Steve blinks slowly at Stark. He puts his elbow back onto the table, leaning towards Bucky, and presents his cheek. Bucky automatically kisses it. Steve says nothing after that, merely satisfied by the display. He returns to his crepes.

 

“Fuck, where’d you find this kid, Barnes? A high school science fair?”

 

“Stark, shut up.”

 

Steve picks up his coffee and instead of holding out his pinkie, he holds out his middle finger. Stark blinks again. Clint laughs, then elbows him and holds out his fist. Steve bumps his fist against it and enjoys his crepes.

 

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Stark says, clearly ignoring Bucky’s command to shut up. “Did somebody check his ID? Wait, no, it’s probably fake.”

 

“Stark,” Bucky snaps. “For _once_ in your life, shut your fucking mouth.”

 

Stark splutters. Steve continues holding out his middle finger calmly. He enjoys the crepes. They’re delicious and creamy and crepey. It’s been a very long time since he had crepes and he has little to base a comparison off of. Stark eventually falls into silence, the crepes are finished and plates cleared and before Steve can finish his cup of coffee, a second single serve French press is brought to the table with the next course; caviar, actual caviar, smoked salmon and savory waffles, with cherry tomatoes, red lettuce and feta cheese topped by a light pesto aioli off to the side. Steve considers the caviar for a second, because he really wants to try it but at the same time he doesn't know if he'd be allergic to it, then he quickly Googles it. Should be fine, he surmises. If not, he's not deathly allergic to shellfish, there's a hospital nearby. He'll be fine.

 

“So, anybody catch the Knicks game?” Clint says when the silence wears on.

 

“Nah,” Stark says.

 

“Fucked up,” Natasha sighs.

 

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Steve says. He’d been working the last time the Knicks played.

 

“Giants?”

 

Stark shrugs. So does Steve. Natasha carries on with her caviar.

 

“Anyone have a conversation topic?” Clint asks desperately. “My hearing aids are going to blow up if this quiet goes on.”

 

“What high school do you go to, Steve?” Stark asks abruptly.

 

Bucky looks up with a pissed set to his jaw, but Steve answers without a beat. “Dropped out seven years ago.”

 

Stark appears slightly mollified. “Why’d you drop out?”

 

Steve shrugs lightly. “My ma was dying and somebody needed to pay bills.”

 

Stark now appears slightly mortified, and Bucky’s glaring out the corner of his eye. Steve carries on with his meal, mimicking Natasha. It’s not a sore subject with him, other than his mother dying. He spent too much time in detention in high school for it to be worth anything to him.

 

“What about community college?” Stark asks, tone lighter like he’s trying to make up for his blunder. “There’s programs for high school dropouts funded by the state.”

 

Steve shrugs again, shaking his head. “Never had the time,” he says.

 

“You could go now,” Bucky says then.

 

Steve pauses in scraping up caviar with his fork to look at him. Bucky shrugs, hand lifting to brush at his bangs. The gesture distracts him and he shrugs as well.

 

“This only made this more awkward,” Clint says.

 

“Well, if someone would quit being a nosy shit,” Bucky agrees, glancing at Stark from the corner of his eye.

 

Stark raises his hands defensively. “I’m a curious person!”

 

“Be curious in another direction,” Bucky snaps.

 

Stark rolls his eyes heavily. Steve shakes his head, like Stark is the child and not him, and sips at his coffee. Stark drops his other elbow onto the table and looks at Natasha.

 

“So, redirecting my curiosity, did you and Wonderboy shack up yet?”

 

Natasha flips the knife in her palm, like she wants to stab the table, but catches Bucky’s warning gaze before she can impale the tablecloth between Stark’s fingers. Stark yanks his hand away anyway.

 

“How about you take your curiosity and devote it to something appropriate?” Natasha says coldly.

 

Stark raises his hands in surrender. “I give up. Fine. Whatever. Boring things. Barnes, are you coming to the gala do thing next Friday or what? ‘Cause the last, like, _twelve_ you said you were and then never showed.”

 

Steve freezes, halfway in setting down his cup, to look at Bucky, who is glaring at the table again, but that’s his default expression so it tells Steve nothing. Friday is their night.

 

“Yes,” Bucky snaps. “With a plus one.”

 

Stark glances at Steve, then shrugs. Steve puts down his cup, nonplussed. He assumes the plus one is him, but the fuck, Bucky? Some warning might have been nice.

 

“That doesn’t include your security detail, does it?” Stark says.

 

“Nope.”

 

“I can’t persuade you to leave the arsenal at home, either?”

 

“No,” Bucky and Natasha answer at once. Steve, feeling like he’d eaten too much of the rich food, starts pushing caviar around his plate. Clint bumps him with his elbow and Steve leans back so Clint can take his plate. He’s liking Clint. He’s like a human garbage disposal.

 

“Oh well,” Stark sighs, shrugging and stabbing a piece of salmon with his fork. “I tried. Tell Pepper I tried.”

 

“Very halfheartedly,” Natasha says.

 

Stark waves the piece of smoked salmon at her. “It’s better than nothing,” he says, and shoves the salmon in his mouth.

 

Steve picks up his coffee, feeling incredibly bored, and tugs his phone from his pocket. He has another text from Darcy, thank _God._

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_How’s breakfast going?_

 

He sips his coffee, sets it down and replies.

 

_Boring. It’s doubling as a business meeting._

_Ouch._

_But I met Tony Stark_

 

A few seconds pass and he switches to Instagram. Had he been using his old phone, he would have used up all his data for the day in the car, however, he assumes Bucky gave him unlimited data with the iPhone X.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_I can’t tell if you’re joking_

_Nope. He’s a nosy person apparently_

_What the fuck_

 

Bucky’s hand sets on the back of his neck and he looks up. Bucky raises his eyebrows and Steve shrugs. Bucky, without saying anything, waves the waiter over.

 

“Check, thanks,” he says, and the waiter vanishes.

 

“Hey, c’mon, I barely got started!” Stark complains.

 

“Hang around after we leave,” Bucky says shortly. “Or, y’know, actually spend more time eating your fucking breakfast than you do interrogating my Omega.”

 

Steve grins at nothing, gaze fixed on his Instagram feed, and he hears Stark huff. Bucky’s hand gives a little pressure to the back of his neck before dropping to the back of his chair again.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_Is he as short as he is on TV?_

 

Steve glances up once, then replies.

 

_Shorter_

_Ha!_

 

He drains the last of his coffee, then leans back in his chair to rest his head against Bucky’s arm and continue his endless scrolling. After a minute, the waiter appears with a black booklet, hands it to Bucky and steps back. Steve, still in Instagram, considers the discover feed before swiping into it.

 

There’s a photo of James Barnes with his arm around a slight blonde. It’s at the top of the trending topics, right under Kim K’s latest meltdown and the Omega Rights March in DC. America has been enthralled with the world of organized crime and the mafia since _The Godfather_ ’s release in the 70s, and James Barnes being a real-life Michael Corleone makes him viral material. Steve tilts his head, examining his own figure, then screenshots the page and sends it to Darcy. It's rather quick for the picture to have been spread, but his discovery feed is location-based; Steve assumes most of New York is fascinated with its own, real-life Godfather.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_Um. What. Steve. That’s you._

_Yes._

_Next to Kim K?_

_Check insta_

_Discovery feed_

 

He waits for her to do it. The waiter returns with the check again, Bucky takes his card and puts it away, then stands up, swinging his jacket off the chair and onto his shoulders.

 

“Good seeing you,” Bucky says to Stark, but he’s not looking at him. He’s holding out a hand to Steve. Steve takes it, lets himself be pulled flush against Bucky’s body and tilts his head back to receive a quick kiss.

 

“I’m out,” Natasha announces as Steve takes his jacket off his chair, Bucky’s hand coming to rest on his waist. “Barton, you got shit to do.”

 

“I know,” Clint sighs.

 

“You two can get your own way home?” Bucky says, but he’s already guiding Steve away from the table.

 

“Yeah, yeah, see ya, boss.”

 

Bucky’s hand curls further around his waist. Steve slips his arm around his body and tucks it into his back pocket. The bodyguards follow them out to the car, one opens their door while the other cross around to get inside first. Steve climbs inside, sits down and waits for Bucky to settle in next to him and the bodyguard to shut the door and get in on the other side. He gets up on his knees on the bench and swings a leg over Bucky’s lap, coiling his arms around Bucky’s neck.

 

“You want something, baby?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow. But he sets his hands on the small of Steve’s back, sliding them down to grip his ass.

 

“What’s next Friday?” Steve demands.

 

“Gala at Stark Tower,” Bucky says. “You got a suit?”

 

“Nope,” Steve answers, satisfied in the confirmation that he is the plus one.

 

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” Bucky says. “Take you to get fitted.”

 

Steve presses their lips together, pushing a hand down the back of Bucky’s jacket and shirt. Bucky’s fingers grip his ass, then one hand detaches to lift up and cup his jaw. Bucky disengages their mouths and Steve does his best not to pout about it.

 

“I'm not one for an audience,” he says quietly, and Steve hardly flicks his gaze back to where the bodyguards sit silently. He does pout. Bucky raises an eyebrow, then lifts his hand to brush a thumb over his cheek before sweeping his hair from his eyes.

 

“Fine,” Steve says, “but I'm not moving.”

 

“Fine,” Bucky agrees.

 

Steve, no longer permitted to begin the writhing he was hoping to do, ducks his head into Bucky’s collar and links his hands together behind Bucky’s back.

 

“What, are you gonna take a nap or something?” Bucky says, chuckling.

 

“Good idea,” Steve mumbles.

 

He adjusts himself so he's pressed to Bucky’s front, to make sure Bucky's aware of their bodies and where they touch. The drive from Madison Avenue to his apartment in Navy Hill takes more than half an hour in the mid-morning traffic, almost an hour that Steve spends making sure Bucky is aware of every point where their bodies touch.

 

When the limo stops at the curb, the kids hanging out on the corner stop throwing around a B-ball to gawk. Steve leans back on Bucky’s lap a moment to fix his hair, then back in to press their lips together for a long moment before pulling back hardly an inch.

 

“You want to come upstairs?” he whispers, his words a ghost to Bucky’s lips.

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, a hand trailing down his spine, like he's considering it. A corner of Steve's lip curls up.

 

“I don't think it's a good idea,” Bucky says. The corner of Steve’s lip drops downward. “Go upstairs and wait for me to call you.”

 

Steve blinks, then he grins. He kisses Bucky once more, then slips off his lap, to pick up his bag and open the door.

 

“Yes, sir,” he says, stepping out. He mocks a salute for effect, even.

 

Steve shuts the door, glances once at the kids who are still staring, and starts up the steps. He ignores his neighbor staring glassy-eyed at the mailboxes. He takes the stairs, not touching the handrail, opens his apartment door and checks the couch first thing.

 

It is empty. He dumps his bag, locks the door and puts on the chain, then grabs his spiked bat and checks the rest of the apartment. When he's satisfied that Rollins has not entered his home without invitation again, he puts the bat back and goes to his bedroom. He puts his hand to the collar of his shirt, then stops. He has only been told to wait.

 

He grabs his phone, puts a new charger in the power strip at his bedside and plugs in his phone even though it's at 63%. He lays down to wait.

 

It will take almost another hour for Bucky to get back to his penthouse. He makes sure that the ringer on his phone is turned on, then goes back to napping. He had a long night and a longer one ahead of him, he has every right to nap.

 

The generic chiming of an Apple ringtone wakes him. Steve sits up, a moment’s confusion has him rubbing at his eyes, then he snatches his phone off the nightstand and answers it with hardly a glance at the caller ID. He already knows who is calling.

 

“Yes, sir?” Steve murmurs.

 

He hears a low chuckle on the other end of the phone. Steve grins to himself and leans back on the pillows, raising his empty hand above his head so he’s not tempted to touch himself before he’s told to.

 

 _“Where are you, baby?”_ Bucky’s voice is as low as his laugh, dripping molten chocolate. It catches at the bottom of Steve’s spine and makes him shiver.

 

“My bedroom. Lying on my bed.”

 

_“You undressed yet or what?”_

 

“You just said to wait,” Steve says. He drops his hand to the neck of his shirt, curling his fingers into the collar.

 

He can imagine Bucky’s predatory grin as he hears the low chuckle once more.

 

_“Take your clothes off, doll.”  
_

 

He sits up, puts the phone on speaker, and strips his shirt off over his head. He drops back to lift his hips up and shove his jeans and underwear down, then picks up the phone again and lays back with it in hand, still on speaker.

 

“Done,” he says, as he’s not sure what else he should say. He’s never had phone sex before. He’s buzzing with anticipation.

 

_“I want you to play with your nipples a bit. Get your fingers nice and wet first.”_

 

Steve shuts his eyes, then sucks a few fingers into his mouth before dropping a hand to his chest. He pinches, then rolls his thumb over the hardening peak.

 

_“You doin’ it, baby?”_

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles.

 

_“Good. Pinch ‘em for me, pretend like it’s my mouth on you.”_

 

Steve pinches, hard, then lets out a long, low sound. He hears movement on the phone, a heavy weight falling onto something soft, a belt buckle. He shudders again at the sound of the belt coming undone.

 

_“Take your fingers down, nice and slow, doll, tease yourself a bit.”_

 

Steve releases his nipple, then trails his hand down his chest, fingers parting over the piercing in his navel, down further.

 

He hears a zipper and his skin is vibrating.

 

_“Go slow, now, doll, don’t go too fast. You got the phone on speaker?”_

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles once more.

 

_“Put your fingers in your mouth. Suck on ‘em, like you would my cock.”_

 

He drops the phone with a quiet whimper, then pushes three fingers of his now free hand into his mouth. He hears a quiet breath, a sleeve rustling as a hand moves.

 

_“Hum for me, baby boy.”_

 

He hums, loud enough so the phone can pick it up.

 

_“Tha’s good. Doin’ real good for me, now, Stevie. You sucking on your fingers, got those pretty nails down your throat, baby?”_

 

He hums again to answer a yes. His nails press down on the back of his tongue, sharp enough to remind him that they aren’t what he wants in his mouth but light enough not to make him gag.

 

_“You thinkin’ about having my cock down your throat, baby?”_

 

Steve hums, the syllables of _yessir_ parting around his fingers.

 

_“Speed your hand up, baby. Fuck your pretty fingers. Tomorrow, I’m gonna have you sit on my face and suck my cock.”_

 

Steve fully moans, his hand tightening and his tongue working harder around his fingers.

 

_“I’m gonna get my tongue up that gorgeous ass a’yours, baby, I’m gonna eat you out ‘til you come on my chest. You fucking your hand, doll?”_

 

He groans to answer. His hips roll into the movements of his hand.

 

_“I’m jerking off listening to you, you know that, right?”_

 

Steve lets out a longer hum, a flash of heat filling his whole body at the thought. He can hear, over the phone’s excellent audio system, the sound of a sleeve shifting, fingers slipping on something wet, the deepening of Bucky’s voice and it makes him heavy with want. He sucks harder on his fingers, thinking about what Bucky tasted like, how he smelled, the heat of his body, and his hand picks up the pace a bit more.

 

_“I can hear your every whimper, baby boy. You want something up that greedy ass a’yours, don’tcha?”_

 

Steve pulls his fingers from his mouth, just to exhale: “Yessir.”

 

_“Bet you’re wet, baby. Bet you’re dripping just listening to me, too. You hear?”_

 

The sounds of fingers slipping on something wet get louder and Steve’s toes curl.

 

“Yessir,” he says, panting. “Yessir, I hear.”

 

_“You drippin', baby? Check for me.”_

 

Steve drops his other hand, spreading his legs wider and letting one foot fall off the edge of his twin bed, and he lets out a long moan.

 

_“There you go, got your fingers up your ass, didn’t you? My little cockslut can’t go a minute without somethin’ fillin’ up his greedy hole, can he?”_

 

“No, sir,” Steve mumbles, and it takes a lot of effort. His core is tense and there is heat pooling low in his belly, he wants Bucky to say _cockslut_ again in his molten chocolate tone.

 

_“I’m gonna have you sit on my face and stuff your mouth full ‘til your throat’s raw and you lose your voice, baby boy. You want that?”_

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers, toes curling almost until his calves cramp.

 

_“Sometime soon, I’m gonna have you on your knees and tie your hands behind your back, then I’m gonna make you come just by talkin’ to you, doll. ‘Course, I’ll feed you my cock while I’m at it.”_

 

Steve whines at the thought, trying to get his fingers deeper.

 

_“Think you could do that? Think you could come just by sucking my cock, little cumslut?”_

 

“Yessir,” Steve murmurs, and while he has no clue if he actually could, he _really_ wants to try it now.

 

_“God, baby. I can hear you working those pretty fingers, it’s fucking gorgeous. Y’know your slick’s the best I ever smelled? Best I ever tasted? Tastes like cookie dough, like gingerbread, baby.”_

 

“Sir,” Steve exhales, just to say it. “Sir, I wanna come. I’m close. Sir, can I come?”

 

_“You wanna come, already? Been only fifteen minutes, baby. Maybe I wanna play with you a while longer.”_

 

“Sir, please,” Steve begs; it’s harder to deny himself the pleasure he so desperately wants when Bucky isn’t there to keep it from him. “Please?”

 

_“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout your taste, baby boy, I gotta admit, I’m close thinkin’ ‘bout you.”_

 

“Sir,” Steve whimpers.

 

_“You writhing in your bed, baby? You all flushed and sweaty, gettin’ your sheets all dirty dripping slick on ‘em?”_

 

“Yessir,” Steve says, “‘m not even on the sheets, ‘m on the blanket, sir, I wanna come.”

 

_“Couldn’t even get under the covers, baby boy’s so horny. You really wanna come? You wanna make me happy?”_

 

“Yessir, yes, please, please, sir –”

 

_“You gonna come thinkin’ about having your pretty ass stuffed up by my cock, baby?”_

 

“Yessir!”

 

_“Your little fingers ain’t nearly enough to play pretend, baby, but I don’t guess you wanna take the time to find somethin’ bigger, do you?”_

 

“Please, no, please, I wanna come now!”

 

_“You gonna come thinkin’ about me making a mess of your pretty hole, baby?”_

 

“Yessir!” he gasps again; Bucky has to let him come soon, he has to, Steve wants to obey so bad but he’s too close –

 

_“Come.”_

 

Steve gasps aloud, long and loud and lewd, hands milking the burst of pleasure, and Bucky’s on the other end of the phone growling dark and predatory, like he’s just come, too. Eventually, Steve falls still, dirty hands dropping onto the bedspread above his head.

 

_“You made a mess, baby boy?”_

 

“Yessir,” he murmurs.

 

_“You got me makin’ a mess of my good suit, doll. I was gonna wear this to meeting later, now I’m gonna have to change.”_

 

Steve’s lips lift in a smile, dazed and blissed out as he pictures it. “Good,” he exhales.

 

Bucky chuckles, low and dark.

 

 _“You gonna be thinkin’ ‘bout me the rest of the night?”_ Bucky asks then. _“You gonna think about who you belong to?”_

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve whispers happily. He’s gonna be thinking about Bucky the rest of his whole damn life.

 

 _“Good,”_ Bucky echoes. _“I’ll pick you up at noon tomorrow.”_

 

Steve grins again, rolling onto his side to look at the phone. “To get fitted or so I can sit on your face?”

 

Bucky chuckles once more. _“Both. We’ll see what order they come in later.”_

 

“I know which I want to come first.”

 

_“I know you do, baby. But ain’t the anticipation what makes it all better?”_

 

“I’ll anticipate it all tonight,” Steve promises, and Bucky laughs, low, again.

 

_“We’ll see what mood I’m in.”_

 

Steve smiles to himself and stretches. “Make it two, would you? I’ll be getting in late tonight.”

 

_“Fine, two. Be on time, doll.”_

 

“Ain’t I always?” Steve mumbles. He settles back onto his pillow, shutting his eyes. For a moment, he wishes he could press back against Bucky’s chest. He ignores it.

 

_“You fallin’ asleep on me, baby?”_

 

“No,” Steve mutters, though it’s an obvious lie. Bucky laughs once again, pleased, but not very predatory.

 

_“Take a nap, Stevie. You earned it.”_

 

“Mmkay,” Steve agrees easily. It makes Bucky laugh again and his lips curl up, just as pleased. He wipes his hands on the blanket, since it's already filthy, then kicks away the dirty blanket to crawl under his sheets, picking up his phone to set an alarm.

 

 _“Night, baby,”_ Bucky says, and Steve had half forgotten he was still there. _“Stay safe tonight.”_

 

“Night, Buck,” he says.

 

The call ends. Steve tries not to feel cold for it and pulls the sheets farther up. He sets an alarm for five, so he can get some dinner before he gets ready for the night, plugs the phone in and curls up in a tight ball to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i hope that phone sex smut distracts you from the fact that US senators are being sent letter bombs atm. the future's great. please leave a comment or reblog chaos's art if you liked this and ttyl_
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	8. mildew, dust, moist breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter: Attempted oral rape, discussion of past child sexual abuse.** _this chapter gets heavy towards the end but is not graphic, please take all necessary precautions._
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> _y'all thought steve was spoiling for trouble? well..._

#  _mildew, dust, moist breath_

 

It’s not the alarm that wakes him, it’s the generic ringtone. Steve groans and rolls over to smack at his new phone vaguely until he can pick it up and squint at the screen.

 

Darcy’s calling. It’s not yet five. He groans again, then swipes a thumb over the screen and presses the phone to his ear.

 

“I’m going to summon a swamp witch to curse you for waking me up five fucking minutes before my alarm went off,” he says.

 

_“Yeah, yeah, you’re summoning swamp witches for a variety of things. You wanna get ready at my place?”_

 

Steve rubs at his eyes, rolling onto his back, then shrugs even though she has no way of knowing he’s shrugging. “Yeah, sure. I’ll bring food. Bucky gave me a credit card.”

 

_“You’re fucking with me. First, you go viral ‘cause Barnes put his arm around you, now you’re flashing his plastic.”_

 

“Yep," Steve says. "He told me to buy real food, so I’m not bringing McDonald’s.”

 

_“Please bring Chipotle.”_

 

“I was thinking Noodles and Company, but Chipotle’s good.”

 

He throws the sheet off and sits up, only vaguely remembering why he’s naked in the haze of post-sleep. He snatches his clothes off the floor, then tosses them onto the bed to get them out of his way.

 

 _“Noodles are good,”_ Darcy says on the phone.

 

“Pick one,” he tells her. He grabs underwear from his dresser and sweats, tugging them on before wandering the room while Darcy hums to gather the things he’ll need for the night. “What are you wearing tonight?” he asks, considering leather pants and a pair of ripped jeans.

 

_“Probably too much lace. And get noodles, I want Pad Thai.”_

 

He goes with the leather. “Can I use your black lipstick?”

 

_“Sure, not like you usually just use my shit without asking.”_

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not like you actually care. I gave you a Kylie lip kit for your birthday, didn’t I?”

 

 _“Stevie, honey,”_ Darcy laughs, _“you gave me a dupe.”_

 

“Ehh,” he says, putting the leather pants and a corset-esque vest into a bag, “same difference. The knock-off was better, anyway.”

 

_“For that, bring coffee, too.”_

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “see you in a bit.”

 

_“Bye, babe!”_

 

He makes fake kissy noises at the phone, then hangs up on her laughter and shoves the phone in a pocket. He grabs a makeup bag and a pair of death metal heels that will make him a full 5’7” instead of his actual 5’1”, shoves each into the bag on top of the clothes before grabbing a full-length leather duster to complete the look. He throws on a shirt to wear to Darcy’s. He tugs on a beanie, throws a last few things in his bag, then yanks on socks and shoves his feet into a pair of sneakers before going out the door, snagging his keys, wallet, and charger on the way.

 

He throws his bag in the back seat, then frowns at the aux cable he was about to plug his phone into. He’ll have to get a converter, since the iPhone X doesn’t have a headphone jack. Or check the box the phone came in, but he left that at Bucky’s place. Steve just shrugs to himself, props the phone in a stand and plays music over its speakers instead of the car’s. The phone’s might actually be better.

 

Stop one is Starbucks, where he gets Darcy her frappuccino and himself a six-shot latte, because the night’s gonna be fucking long and he’s not looking to fall asleep at one AM, then Noodles & Company for dinner before he pulls up outside Darcy’s building. He texts her that he’s outside, grabs his shit and the food, then makes his way up to her floor. He has to take the stairs, and even without his hands full, he wouldn’t touch the hand railing in her building, either.

 

He kicks the door instead of knocking. Darcy opens it in leggings and a bright pink bra.

 

“Yasss,” she sighs happily, plucking the slightly melted frap out of his hand and immediately walking away again.

 

“You could help!” he calls after her, juggling his latte, gym bag, and takeout bag of noodles. He kicks the door shut behind him, dumping his gym bag by her couch and putting the takeout bag on the coffee table.

 

Darcy drops onto her sofa, sipping her frap. “You put extra espresso in it, right?”

 

“Yes, yes,” Steve agrees. “Two blended in, two on top. Barista probably thought I was gonna give you a heart attack.”

 

Darcy just shrugs, content to enjoy her blended coffee. Steve rolls his eyes, unpacking the food. Pad Thai for her and spicy noodles for him, plus a bowl of tomato soup ‘cause he’d paid with Bucky’s credit card and he had the room to splurge a little. They’ll probably end up sharing it, because, again, they have no boundaries anymore.

 

“I swear, if I was stranded on a desert island, I’d bring my barista,” Darcy announces.

 

“That would be completely useless because your barista doesn’t come equipped with a fully stocked Starbucks,” Steve says.

 

“Details,” Darcy retorts, snatching her takeout container and a fork before leaning back on the couch to put her legs up. “We’re getting picked up, Russo said to call at nine, you wanna watch some TV while we eat?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Steve picks up her legs and tosses them out of his way so he can sit down, but she just puts them back in his lap. He rolls his eyes and she wiggles her toes in a pair of luridly pink fuzzy socks. Darcy grabs a remote and turns on her TV, a monster of a thing she’d picked up at a garage sale three years ago and had forced Steve to help carry up to her fifth-floor apartment. It’s so old it actually has VCR input and output that she had to buy converters to hook up her BluRay player. The converter had ultimately been more expensive than the TV, plus Steve made her pay his bill when she smashed his hand with the monster TV and broken one of his fingers.

 

“Friends?” she suggests.

 

“Nah,” Steve says, mouth half full.

 

“We’re not playing this game,” Darcy answers instantly.

 

Steve swallows. “What game?”

 

“The game where I suggest things and you say _nah_ until both of us have finished eating.”

 

Steve considers this. “Nah.”

 

“Fuck you,” Darcy declares, flicking a bit of parsley at him.

 

“That only accomplished making your couch dirtier than it already is,” he says, flicking the parsley onto the cushion by her knee.

 

“Fuck you,” Darcy repeats.

 

“It’ll be eight fifty,” Steve retorts.

 

She gives him the middle finger. “Fuck you and your eight fifty in half an hour.”

 

Darcy makes seven hundred in half an hour on average. Steve’s got the novelty of being a male Omega on his side.

 

“I don’t make the rules,” Steve says with smug pleasure, tucking back into his noodles. “Turn on CSI, I like that.”

 

“Fine,” Darcy sighs. Not like she binge-watches CSI: New York every few days.

 

Steve resettles into the couch, grabbing his latte off the coffee table every few minutes, takes his time in enjoying his noodles. It’s hardly six and his makeup takes barely an hour to do. Darcy finishes her food by the time the first episode is over, but she brings her shit out into the living room to do her makeup while watching. When he finishes, he drags his bag over and ends up hogging half her mirror, seeing as his is five inches across and can’t stand up on its own. They bump elbows and he steals some of her eyeshadow while she steals his matte blood red lipstick, and it’s their usual camaraderie. He likes getting ready with her; she does his eyeliner on his left eye ‘cause he always makes it a little crooked and he ends up curling her hair when eight thirty rolls around and she’s perfecting her eyebrows still, and it’s a hell of a lot better than when he always got ready in his apartment alone and his hands were shaking.

 

Sure, the job gets easier the longer you do it, but it’s even easier when you’ve got a friend, and Steve’s glad he’s got Darcy as one.

 

“Are you gonna steal my Victorian choker?” she asks at eight forty-five.

 

“Already stole it,” Steve answers with a grin.

 

Darcy rolls her eyes.

 

They end up leaving at nine-thirty, but the bars are hardly opening by that time anyway. They check in with Russo, who drops them off at the corner of 88th and Prince between a couple different dives and a tavern or three, two rooms at a motel down the road rented for the night to do business in if needed. Steve, with half his midriff exposed by his vest so his navel piercing can catch the streetlights and only a leather duster to keep him warm, prays somebody comes along soon because it’s still fucking November and he’s freezing. Darcy’s not much better off; her dress is half lace and her leggings are nearly transparent. Full-length fur coats don’t attract clients, after all.

 

Fortunately, Saturday nights are always busy. Before midnight, Steve’s hiding nearly four grand in the lining of his duster and Darcy’s got almost as much stuffed in her coat. Russo’ll be coming by around twelve thirty to take the cash off them, it’s twelve eighteen and Steve’s still freezing his ass off. His toes are nice and warm. He’s wearing platform spiked boots. Darcy’s wearing open toes to show off her fancy pedicure.

 

“I can’t feel my pinky toes,” she says for the eighth time in the past ten minutes.

 

Steve checks his phone again. “Russo better bring us caffeine,” he mutters, then yawns.

 

“Russo better drag us back for a break,” she hisses back. “I’m on forty percent.”

 

She means her phone battery. Steve prods her jacket. “You’ve got a power cell.”

 

“Used it while you were with Short-Dark-and-Scary,” she says.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “His name’s Logan, Darce.”

 

“Short-Dark-and-Scary,” Darcy insists. “So fucking glad he was too drunk to tell you were a dude.”

 

Steve shrugs again. “Didn’t seem to bother him later.”

 

He puts his phone away. His battery’s not lasting the longest, either, and he doesn’t have a power cell. (Though it’s so much better than his old phone, which would have died within an hour in this cold.) He crosses his arms over his chest, huffing upward to blow a strand of hair back up into the spiked ‘do he’s got it in, checks the road and shivers. Everything slows down around midnight. It’ll pick up again around one thirty, but they’re going home at three whether it’s slow or not. Most places on Prince have last-call at two-thirty, anyway.

 

He checks the road again. Darcy flips her hair over her shoulder, adjusting her stance to expose her cleavage better as somebody leaves the bar next door. Steve clamps his jaw to stop himself from yawning but otherwise does nothing. Dude’s staring at his phone and looks stone cold sober, so he doubts he’s worth much.

 

The guy walks on. Steve looks down the road, wondering where the hell Russo is, then does a double take to look towards the other end of Prince.

 

He elbows Darcy. She looks up and he points towards a short figure taking the crowded sidewalk at a fast walk.

 

“Is that a kid?” he hisses.

 

Darcy squints down the road; her distance vision is considerably better than his, but he’s seeing what looks like a twelve or thirteen-year-old girl making her way down Prince. She’s wearing a puffy purple jacket and a rainbow beanie that hardly fits over her kinky hair, hugging herself against the cold.

 

“Oh, shit,” Darcy says under her breath.

 

“What the fuck is a kid doing out here at this time of night?” Steve half spits, already walking. “What the fuck is a kid doing out here _at all?_ ”

 

“Hey, what about Russo?”

 

Steve waves a hand at her; he’ll check in later. He starts at a light jog, too, crossing the blocks towards where the girl’s edging past a group of drunk college kids. He runs faster, as fast as he can on six-inch heels, but the frat boys have already noticed her.

 

“Aw, what’s a cute girl like you doin’ all alone?”

 

 _Shit,_ he thinks. The girl, like an idiot, stops in her tracks to turn around. Even from a distance, she looks startled.

 

“Hey, sweetie, what’s your name?”

 

Steve grinds his teeth; kid’s obviously no more than thirteen, what the _fuck_ is wrong with these guys?

 

“What’s your number?”

 

“Nice ass, baby!”

 

“Hey!” Steve yells, half a block away now. “Hey, assholes! Fuck off!”

 

“Make me!” one yells.

 

Steve gets level with the girl, who, up close, looks barely eleven and scared stiff by the adult men cat-calling her. She looks at him, startles again at his appearance, but as he gets close enough that she can smell him, she lights up in relief, obviously realizing that he’s an Omega.

 

Kids flock to Omegas when they’re scared, usually their mothers, but in this case, Steve’s all this girl’s got.

 

“Get outta here before I call the cops on your drunk asses!” he yells at the frat boys. The girl sidesteps, ducking to hide behind him, and he half spreads his arms as if to cover her. He hopes these drunks don’t realize he’s tiny and decide that they can take him in a fight. He’s prepared to fight, though. His death metal heels double as bludgeoning weapons and his nails are sharp enough to be claws. He left deep marks in Logan’s back earlier, since he was into that sort of thing, he’ll claw these motherfuckers’ eyes out for looking at a child and not caring.

 

“Whatever,” several of them grumble. They’re moving on and he heaves a sigh of relief.

 

“Hey, how much?” someone else yells at him.

 

Steve ignores them. They’re not worth it; he grabs the girl by the arm and starts tugging her away. “What the hell are you doing, kid? Where are your parents?”

 

“I’m running away!” the girl snaps. She has enough smarts to yank her arm out of his grip; even if he’s an Omega, he’s a stranger. Yet she keeps close anyway as they move away from the drunk frat boys.

 

“Alright,” Steve sighs. “Look, kid, what you’re doing is immensely stupid. You’re what, eleven, twelve? Even if you’re running away, what the hell are you doing running away through the red light district? Run away towards the damn park!”

 

“I dunno,” the girl mutters.

 

Steve checks the road again; Russo’s stopped by the corner and Darcy’s leaning in the window, then stops and tugs out his phone. “Okay. Alright, kid, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna call your mom and tell her where to come get you. We’re just gonna wait here ‘til she shows up, okay?”

 

“I told you –” she starts angrily.

 

“Girl, don’t get smart with me,” Steve interrupts. “You’ve probably scared your parents half to death already, whatever you’re running away over, it’s not worth getting yanked off the street by some drunk. How old are you?”

 

“Eleven and a half,” she mutters. Steve sighs. She’s too young to realize what he means, and while that’s a good thing, it makes her naive, which makes her vulnerable. He shakes his head, unlocks his phone and hands it to her.

 

“Call your mom,” he insists. “I’ll wait with you, alright?”

 

She takes the phone reluctantly. She’s not even wearing gloves; it’s nearly December, and New York is cruel with snow on her back. “I’m not even s’posed to talk to strangers,” she says, but she’s dialing a number.

 

“My name’s Steve, if it makes you feel better,” Steve tells her.

 

He looks down the road while she presses the phone to her ear. Darcy’s glancing up at them and back into the car. She points to him, he gives her a shrug. Darcy opens the door and hops in, then the car starts rolling. Steve pulls his jacket around himself tighter as the car nears. The girl looks up and shrinks closer to him.

 

“It’s alright, it’s just my friends,” Steve says, waving a flat hand over his neck to indicate that they shouldn’t come closer, but Russo’s already parking in front of them. The girl shrinks into her puffy jacket.

 

Darcy hops back out. The girl looks a little less scared at the sight of her, another Omega. “Hey,” she says to the girl, kindly. “What’re you doing, sweetie?”

 

“We’re calling her mom,” Steve says quickly.

 

“Billy, gimme your coat,” Darcy snaps into the car.

 

“Bitch, don’t –”

 

“I said give!” she retorts. He hears Russo sigh, but he shifts to take the coat off, then leans out and hands her it. Darcy drapes it over the girl’s shoulders, its length covering her legs clad in pink sweats and she hugs it about her.

 

“What’s your name, love?” she asks.

 

“Emmy,” the girl mumbles.

 

“Is your mom picking up?” Steve asks.

 

She shrugs. “It’s dialing.”

 

Russo leans farther out the car. “Hey, cough up, Steve.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Steve says.

 

“I ain’t got all night –”

 

“Wait!” Steve snaps.

 

Russo rolls his eyes. He looks at the girl, then away, clearly twice as pissed. “We’re picking up strays now?” he snaps.

 

“Shut up, Russo,” Darcy and Steve answer at the same time. Brass Fang made a habit of picking up strays back when Garrett was in charge, anyway, and Russo’s too fresh to know that.

 

The asshole has the nerve to cluck his tongue, but it’s not even remotely frightening coming from somebody as useless as Billy Russo, compared to the way it is when it’s coming from James Barnes. He puts the car in park and sits back in his chair.

 

Steve hears the line click and turns to face Emmy. He can’t hear the person on the other end greeting her, though.

 

“Mom?” Emmy says.

 

He does hear the mom screech out: _“OhmygodEmily!”_ though.

 

Emmy winces a couple times as her mom shrieks across the phone, going so far as to hold the phone away from her ear a few inches. Steve tries not to listen, but he can’t help catching a few words; Mom’s been terrified looking for her all night.

 

“I’m sorry,” Emmy mumbles when her mom finally pauses for breath. “I’m okay, I swear, I’m using somebody’s phone, him and his friends said they’d stay with me until you come to pick me up. No, no, Mama, they’re Omegas, his friend’s a lady, his name’s Steve, he’s nice, he insisted I call you. He called me stupid for running away, though.”

 

Steve only raises his eyebrows. He hears Mom give a hysterical laugh and Emmy smiles weakly.

 

“Tell her you’re on Prince near Boyd’s Tavern,” Darcy says.

 

“I’m on Prince near Boyd’s Tavern,” Emmy repeats.

 

 _“YOU’RE WHERE?”_ Mom starts shrieking again. Emmy winces again. Steve totally understands her mother’s panic. Her child is in the middle of the _red light district._

 

“Stay on the phone ‘til she gets here,” Steve says quickly.

 

“Mama, Steve says to stay on the phone until you get here,” Emmy says, probably interrupting her mother starting a new tirade. “When will you be here?”

 

She lifts the phone away from her mouth to say: “Ten minutes,” to Steve. He nods.

 

“Okay,” she adds to her mother. “I’m really sorry.”

 

Russo sighs in the car. Darcy sticks her middle finger up at him without looking. Steve bends half over to give him a stink eye.

 

“Time is money!” Russo snaps.

 

“Eleven!” Steve hisses, pointing to the girl. “You can wait ten minutes!”

 

Russo shakes his head, looking out his other window. Darcy puts her arm around Emmy’s shoulder and rubs her arm. Emmy leans into her, shrinking into her jacket. Her mother’s still talking on the phone, Steve catches snippets of the threats of how long she’s going to ground Emmy for. He gets it; he’d ground his kid for a year if they ran off and ended up in a place like this. Fuck, his own ma’s probably trying to find a way to reincarnate herself just so she can track him down and box his ears in for ending up where he is.

 

Steve pushes away thoughts of his mother. They never lead to good places.

 

The ten minutes take ages to go by. Steve half listens to Emmy’s mom on the phone, constantly looking up and down the road for cars approaching, Emmy stays huddled under Darcy’s arm with the phone pressed to her ear. A beat-up Toyota approaches and finally, Emmy pulls away to flag it down.

 

The driver pulls up behind Russo’s car, leaves it running to get out and a woman runs out. Emmy pushes the phone into Steve’s hands and runs to meet her; the woman snatching her up and lifting her off her feet.

 

“You’re lucky I don’t whoop your skinny ass for scaring me like that!” Emmy’s mom sobs.

 

Russo snaps his fingers at Steve. Steve shows him his middle finger and walks up to the embracing mother and daughter.

 

“We’re the ones that found her,” he says, making eye contact with Mom. “We’re glad she’s safe.”

 

Emmy’s mother looks up him and down, then Darcy, then holds her daughter tighter. Steve doesn’t blame her.

 

“Thank you,” she says, however.

 

Steve gives a nod. He sees a tattoo on the mom’s forearm, the symbol of East Street Soldados. She catches where his gaze is, but doesn’t look ashamed of it in any way. He grabs his sleeve and tugs it back, showing her the inside of his wrist and the open tiger’s maw that mark him part of Brass Fang. She nods, too.

 

“Thank you,” she repeats. Soldados and Fang aren’t enemies, they’re not friends, either, but right there, he and this woman are allies.

 

“Anytime,” he says. She pulls away from Emmy, guiding her into the car. The second he sees Emmy safely in her mother’s car, he turns back to unload his jacket for Russo.

 

“Any chance you brought us coffee?” he asks.

 

Russo does not look impressed. “Just get back to work, you’ve wasted enough time.”

 

“You know what, fuck you,” Steve says. He throws the last of his money onto the passenger seat, four grand and already plenty to break even five times for the rent on his room and the gas Russo’s spent driving around the entire night. “I’m done for tonight. I’m sick.”

 

“Steve,” Russo tries to say warningly.

 

“Yeah, I think I’m about to puke,” Darcy adds in a vicious tone. “Smelled a skunk, maybe.”

 

Russo glares at her. Steve shows him his middle finger again, then links his arm with Darcy and they start walking.

 

“Rollins is gonna beat your asses for this!” Russo yells from his car.

 

“Tell Rollins he can suck my dick!” Steve yells over his shoulder.

 

“And mine, too!” Darcy adds.

 

“Fuck you, lazy ass bitches!”

 

Darcy turns halfway around to stick her tongue out, but they carry on. Steve’s feet are killing him and he’ll bet Darcy’s are in a worse state, but they walk all the way from Prince and 88th to her apartment, nearly an hour in nearly freezing temperatures. They get offers ten or twenty times each on the way and their responses are always the middle finger. They’re done for the night.

 

“You wanna stay over?” she offers, unlocking her door.

 

“Nah,” he says, though he yawns. “Bucky’s picking me up in the afternoon. He’s taking me to get a suit.”

 

“Fancy,” Darcy says. She yawns, too, kicking off her shoes as she walks in. Steve kicks the door shut, then starts changing immediately while she flops onto her couch.

 

“Hey, go to bed,” he warns, “take your makeup off.”

 

“In’a minute,” she mumbles.

 

He tugs his death metal heels off, leaving him in just his leather pants and socks, then yanks on her ankles. “Actual bed, actually take your makeup off.”

 

“Ugh,” Darcy declares. She gets up, though. “I don’t deserve this.”

 

“Hell no, you don’t deserve me,” Steve counters her insult. He gives her a light push towards her room. “Makeup!”

 

She waves a hand. Steve peels off his leather pants, tugging on his sweatpants and shirt of earlier. He shoves his shit into his bag, then goes to check that Darcy’s actually taking her makeup off. She’s carefully pulling off her false eyelashes.

 

“Night,” he says.

 

“Night,” she agrees, waving at him in the mirror. “Enjoy suit shopping. Tell me why the hell you’re suit-shopping in the morning.”

 

Steve waves once more, dismissively this time, then makes his way out, putting his duster back on. He makes sure that the handle’s locked when he leaves, calling out a reminder to Darcy that she actually lock her door as he leaves. Steve yawns on his way down the stairs, unlocking his phone and checking his notifications. He’s got a text from Rollins calling him all sorts of nice names for skimping out on the last two hours of the night, which he ignores, and an email from Lush, which he also ignores. He’d been hoping for a text or something from Bucky, but there’s nothing. Pouting, he puts his phone into his pocket.

 

In his car, he takes a minute to rub his eyes before starting the engine. He’s trying not to think about how everyone he knows is tied to some kind of gang and how his mother would be horrified if she knew how he paid his rent.

 

There’s traffic, even at two in the morning. It takes him nearly another hour to get home, and he almost forgets to take his bag upstairs when he parks behind the building.

 

Steve takes the stairs, dragging his feet and not touching the handrail. He reaches his door, takes out his keys, and only after he’s got his key in the deadbolt does he see that the door’s open.

 

“Fucking Rollins,” he hisses. He shoves the door open and dumps his bag, rounding on the couch to tell Rollins he can shove a cactus up his ass or something equally terrible, like cuddle a live and hungry crocodile.

 

The couch is empty. Steve frowns, then looks around for his pimp. He freezes, then turns around slowly to face his TV.

 

Where his TV should be. His cheap TV he bought at Wal-Mart five years ago and has to bribe Ward’s cousin Parker from Starbucks into fixing every few months. His cheap ass TV that ain’t worth a dime but isn’t fucking in his apartment.

 

“No,” he hisses under his breath. “Fuck, no. Fucking hell, no.”

 

Steve grabs the door, then claps a hand over his mouth because the door had been forced open, not unlocked. He runs for his bedroom, drops to his knees and digs under the bed for the coffee tin he hides his cash in, and it’s empty.

 

“No, no, no!” he sobs, crashing onto the floor. He doesn’t even want to look for what else is gone. He’s been fucking robbed. He’s been fucking robbed, and sure, he keeps most of his money in a bank, but that coffee tin had three thousand dollars in it easily, and that’s not even counting the money Barnes gave him that night at the warehouse. The fucking money he was gonna give his landlord for this month’s rent was in that fucking coffee tin.

 

“Fuck,” he hisses. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t call the cops. Rollins is pissed at him, he can’t call him. His landlord probably won’t give a shit or will want to call the cops and, again, he can’t call them.

 

He stares, out of his mind, into the empty coffee tin. He doesn’t know what to do. He stares for way longer than necessary, then puts it aside to go looking for what else is missing. His laptop’s gone. His microwave and coffee maker are gone. The DVD player, VCR that hasn’t worked in months, his old off-brand MP3 player and the external CD drive that Rumlow had him using to pirate music and movies are stolen. That’s just the stuff he can see right away. Whoever robbed him even took his fucking toaster.

 

The picture of his parents that had been by the TV lies crumpled on the floor, a boot print marring his ma’s face. The frame, which had probably looked gold in the low lights, is gone. Steve drops onto the floor to pick it up, pressing a hand to his mouth and trying not to cry. There’s a muddy boot print on his ma’s face. It’s the only picture of her he has. Sure, he can print another one, but that picture and that frame had sat on his ma’s headboard for the first sixteen years of his life and when she passed and all their things had been snatched up and sold at auction, it had been all he had left of her. It’s the only picture of his _dad_ that he has, even digitally. He doesn’t have a copy of this photo on his Google drive like he has copies of pictures of his ma.

 

Steve doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know who to call to fix this. He doesn’t know if this can even be fixed. The stuff, that’s all just stuff, half of it was shit and worthless anyway and he’s moving out soon, so the fuck does he need with a shitty TV or cheap toaster, but he doesn’t have any other pictures of both his parents and this one is marred by mud.

 

What can he do at three in the morning, either? Steve gets up and shuts the door, even though it’s busted, and puts the chain on it. He drags the sofa in front of it for good measure. He takes the ruined picture of his parents and splays it out on his nightstand, brushing uselessly at the mud stains, then collapses onto his bed. He buries his face in his pillow and tries to muffle his sobbing.

 

He cries himself to sleep, forgetting to set an alarm. His phone battery probably dies during the night, too, because he never hears it ringing. He’s woken up by banging on the door.

 

Steve jolts up, neck stiff from lying on his stomach all night. There’s someone banging on his door, and when he checks the time, he scrambles out of bed to answer it, thinking it’s Bucky annoyed that he’s late. It’s quarter past two. He hadn’t thought about Bucky. Honestly, all he wants is to collapse into Bucky’s arms like some cliche and cry until Barnes makes it better.

 

He shoves the couch out of the way, undoes the chain with shaking hands and yanks the door open.

 

“You’re late with the rent,” his landlord, Trevor Slattery, snaps. Not Bucky.

 

Steve deflates. “Look,” he sighs, “my place got broken into last night and all my cash got stolen. Gimme a few days –”

 

Slattery shoves his way in, though. “You’re already a week late, Rogers!”

 

“I got robbed last night!” Steve shouts. Pissed and exhausted and fucking robbed, he fucking hates Slattery right now. “Look around!” he says, gesturing to his ransacked apartment. “Can you cut me a little slack?!”

 

Slattery shoves at his shoulders, looking angry still. “I’ve cut you slack a thousand times, you’re always late with the damn rent, bitch, it’s not even that much!”

 

“I got robbed!” Steve yells again, like Slattery’s stupid.

 

“Then that’s your security deposit gone,” Slattery snaps.

 

“You absolute piece of shit,” Steve says. He deflates even more. “Are you serious right now?”

 

Slattery softens a little. He backs up some, not as in his face, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Alright,” he says, sighing. He shakes his head, looking around. He shuts the door and Steve takes a step back, not liking where this is going. “Fine. You can just pay in kind.”

 

Steve clenches his jaw. Slattery looks at him expectantly.

 

“Are you serious,” Steve repeats flatly.

 

“I’ll go easy on you,” Slattery says, like this is completely nothing, “just a suckjob. Considering you’ve been robbed, it’s the least I can do for you to forgo your rent this month.”

 

“Are you _serious?_ ” Steve snaps. “No! I’m not giving you a fucking BJ –”

 

Slattery scoffs. Steve stops to gape at him, disgusted.

 

“You’re serious! Oh, my God, you absolute piece of _shit_ –”

 

“Just do it,” Slattery snaps.

 

“No!”

 

“Get on your knees!” Slattery barks.

 

Steve’s knees give out against his will. He shuts his mouth with a snap, eyes going wide as he can’t quite catch his breath. _Fuck._

 

Slattery gives a nod, uncrossing his arms. “It’s not that big a deal. I’m sure you do this all the time, Rogers, you’re a hooker.”

 

“This is rape,” Steve starts to say.

 

“Shut up,” Slattery commands. Steve’s tongue is too large for his mouth. “You should be thanking me. This is a whole two grand I’m forgiving, for what, fifteen minutes of your time? Twenty minutes, at the most.”

 

Steve tries to wrench his jaw open or move, but he can’t do either. He fucking _hates_ Alpha voices. How the fuck was this an evolutionary development. Why wasn’t every Alpha who could produce an Alpha voice slaughtered a million billion years ago, and why was it passed down?

 

Steve shuts his eyes, grimacing as Slattery undoes his belt. Slattery grabs his jaw, then forces a thumb between his lips. Steve bites it hard and Slattery yelps.

 

“Don’t bite!” Slattery commands. “Open your mouth!”

Steve’s jaw drops open, but his tongue is still too large for his mouth. He can’t talk and now his jaw is lax. He’s lucky Slattery isn’t commanding him to look at him.

 

Someone bangs on the door. Slattery claps a hand over his open mouth and Steve tries his damnedest to bite down despite the command.

 

“Steve!”

 

Bucky’s voice. Bucky. Bucky’s on the other side of the door. Steve can’t bite down or make his tongue work.

 

“Answer your fucking phone, Steve!”

 

“Be quiet!” Slattery hisses the command. He hisses it, barely loud enough for Steve to hear, and it’s not a full command.

 

Steve finds his breath and just screams.

 

He hears a crash and the door bang open. Slattery is thrown away and Steve’s yanked off his knees, tugged into a muscled body that smells like cigars and cedar smoke. He presses his face into Bucky’s chest, sagging in relief, and hears a gun cocking.

 

“Who the fuck is that?” Bucky growls.

 

“Landlord,” Steve mumbles, softening the vowels while the command to shut up still fades. He swallows spit, trying to make his tongue fit his mouth again.

 

“Oh, shit,” Slattery’s hissing. Steve turns his head, looking out the corner of his eye, to see Slattery on the ground and Bucky aiming a gun for his face at point blank range. Slattery clearly recognizes, first, who is pointing a gun at him, second, what’s about to happen for what he was about to do. James Barnes’s temper is infamous.

 

“You absolute piece of shit,” Steve repeats.

 

“We’re going for a ride,” Bucky says. He’s talking to Slattery. “Get up.”

 

Steve puts his face back in the silk of Bucky’s shirt. Bucky’s right arm is locked around his shoulders, his fingers digging into his side. He’s still catching his breath.

 

He hears Slattery stand, then Bucky pulls him into his side rather than his chest and he watches Slattery shuffle out. Bucky has two bodyguards outside the door, both have guns drawn and pointing at Slattery. The door is hanging off its hinges, having been kicked open.

 

“Are you gonna kill ‘im?” Steve mumbles then.

 

“Yep,” Bucky answers firmly, popping the final _p._

 

“Okay,” Steve says faintly.

 

“Let’s go,” Bucky snaps, fingers still digging into Steve’s body.

 

Steve can feel Bucky's heartbeat where his palm presses to his chest. It’s going faster than his own. He’s in a daze. Too much shit has happened in too short a time; he has yet to fully react to the fact that his apartment had been broken into the night before let alone the fact that Slattery was about to force him to suck his dick, not even reaching Bucky’s abrupt arrival and the fact that he’s about to kill his landlord.

 

He is, however, vaguely aware of the fact that Bucky is fucking awesome. He doesn’t even know the full situation other than the fact that Steve had screamed. Forget knight in shining armor. He’s got a mob boss in a tailored suit.

 

The bodyguards grab Slattery by the arms and press their handguns into his body. They escort him out, Bucky walking Steve with his arm clamped tight around him and gun still trained on Slattery’s back. Steve hardly thinks about the fact that they’re leaving his apartment open and unlocked; there’s nothing of value left in it, anyway. Maybe there’s no point.

 

The bodyguards and Slattery fill the width of the stairwell. They frogmarch him out of the building and shove him into the back of the same stretch Cadillac Bucky had used the day before. Bucky guides Steve in a much gentler fashion, settling in beside him and drawing him back into his side instantly. He keeps his gun on Slattery.

 

Slattery looks like he’s about to piss himself. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he already had. He looks like a man who’s faced with his own death and knows that when he appears before Judgement, he will be found wanting.

 

“How about we head for the docks, Luke?” Bucky calls for the driver. He’s looking at Slattery with cold eyes. Steve’s still in a daze.

 

“Sure thing, boss,” answers Cage. The partition is down.

 

“There’s no point in trying to explain yourself,” Bucky then says to Slattery. “I’ve killed men for less. You should be glad I don’t have the time to make your death painful.”

 

Slattery swallows, eyes wide. Steve’s just blinking and breathing at this point. He’ll probably react later. After he’s processed what the fuck just happened. He stays where he is, plastered to Bucky’s side under his arm. He doesn’t look at Slattery. Slattery’s an absolute piece of shit and he has no qualms about seeing him dead right now. Maybe later. Maybe later he’ll freak out. Bucky’s about to murder his landlord, who was about to orally rape him, because he didn’t have the rent, because he got robbed. Yeah, he can freak out later.

 

At least he knows Slattery is single and has no family. So, no one to miss him. Steve certainly doubts anyone in the building will be even remotely sad to see him gone. The guy’s a creep. Clearly. He’s going to freak out later.

 

Bucky says nothing further. Slattery has three guns pointed at him and Steve’s done looking at his scared face. Creep had it coming. He’s going to freak out soon enough, but for now, he hides his face in Bucky’s shoulder, curling his legs onto the bench and hugging his waist. It’s then that he realizes he’s wearing shoes. He fell asleep in his sneakers. Also in yesterday’s sweats and shirt, but he’s not wearing a coat. Eventually, he’s going to demand Bucky give him his coat. Probably when he’s done freaking out about the events leading up to this moment. The stretch limo is heated and Bucky’s body is warm, so he’s not cold, at least.

 

Steve spends the whole damn ride in that daze, somewhere between _what the fuck?_ and _what the fuck!_ and nowhere near the _oh, fuck…_ that would mean he had begun to process what the fuck had just happened. The limo rolls to a stop and Bucky flicks his gun from Slattery to the door.

 

Bodyguard 1 opens the door and Bodyguard 2 gives Slattery a hard shove. He tumbles off the bench, rolls fully out of the car and lands on his knees. Steve vaguely thinks that this is poetic justice. Bucky points his gun out of the car door, and Slattery has barely enough time to look up.

 

Steve winces at the gunshot. Slattery crumples. Bucky sticks a leg out and gives him a kick, and the body rolls off the edge of the harbor. There’s a distant splash. The bodyguard shuts the door and Bucky puts his gun away.

 

Steve realizes that he’s shivering. Bucky finally looks at him, then wraps his other arm around him and lifts him off the bench. Steve lands in his lap, then just sags against his chest. Bucky’s hands press to his body, one to his spine and the other to the back of his head, and Steve just blinks.

 

“You’re okay, baby, you’re alright, you’re safe,” Bucky is saying. How long had he been talking? Steve can’t remember. He’s in a daze.

 

“Home, now, Luke!” Bucky shouts.

 

 

Steve blinks at the collar of Bucky’s shirt. He’s not shivering, he’s shaking. Which, understandable. Chain of events. Holy fuck.

 

“It’s okay, Stevie,” Bucky keeps saying. Steve only blinks. Bucky’s fingers are digging into the back of his head. He can feel Bucky’s pulse against his temple. It’s racing. Steve’s heart is going a slow, steady beat. That’s probably not a good thing, considering the chain of events. Is he in shock? Is that a thing? He thinks that’s a thing. It’s possibly a thing. Is it a thing happening to him, however, he has no fucking clue.

 

He’s vaguely aware of movement. Bucky is carrying him. He doesn’t move his head out of the nape of Bucky’s neck. But Bucky is carrying him somewhere, arms locked under his thighs and Steve realizes that his arms have been draped around Bucky’s neck. His hands are clasped onto his elbows. He doesn’t remember doing it.

 

He’s vaguely aware of his sense of gravity telling him he’s tipping. He’s vaguely aware of his back pressing into something soft.

 

“Let go,” Bucky says.

 

Steve drops his hands without thinking about it. That was a command.

 

“Fuck!” Steve abruptly yells.

 

Bucky jerks back, grabbing his hands as Steve jolts. He sits up, so fast he nearly collides with Bucky’s head, and now he’s panting. Hyperventilating. A thousand things are flashing through his head.

 

“Steve, breathe!”

 

His lungs stop. Slowly, shakily, they expand. Slowly, shakily, they contract. Steve’s breathing slower against his will. Bucky is commanding him to breathe slower.

 

“Fuck,” he repeats. He’s still breathing slowly.

 

“What happened?” Bucky asks. It’s a question, not a command.

 

“Fuck,” Steve just says. He can’t connect the fact that Bucky has commanded him to breathe slowly with the fact that some period of time ago he can’t recall with precise definition Slattery was commanding him to shut up and get on his knees. He can’t process the contrast.

 

Bucky presses a hand to the back of his neck and abruptly he’s squeezing. Steve’s eyes flutter, then he drops, suddenly exhausted. Bucky catches him, then lowers him against the pillows. Steve can’t think. All he can do is breathe.

 

“You’re safe,” Bucky is saying. “You’re safe here, you’re with me, you’re with Bucky, you’re safe, you ain’t got nobody to worry about, you’re completely safe, baby, I got you, I got you –”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Steve interrupts.

 

Bucky is kneeling next to the low bed, still holding him by the back of the neck and applying pressure. Steve’s heard of Alphas being able to calm Omegas by squeezing the back of their necks. He’s never had it done to him. It’s weird. He’s too calm to worry about it.

 

“We’re in my apartment,” Bucky says.

 

“Okay,” Steve mutters.

 

“You’re in my bed.”

 

“Cool,” Steve says flatly.

 

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

 

Steve swallows. He blinks several times, feeling the exhaustion weighing over him, but he’s calm now and he feels like he oughta tell Bucky what happened. He’s not compelled to, he hasn’t been commanded. It just feels like a good idea?

 

“‘Kay,” he says. He swallows again. “Words. Words are hard.”

 

“Go slow, doll,” Bucky says in a gentle tone.

 

“‘Kay,” he repeats.

 

Bucky brushes at his hair with the hand not putting pressure on the back of his neck. Steve shuts his eyes, sighing, and Bucky repeats the motion. He continues to repeat the motion. He’s petting Steve’s hair.

 

He’s calming down, legitimately. The chain of events leading to right now feel very distant, but he’s aware of them. He’s supposed to tell Bucky what they are. Right.

 

“Robbed,” he says.

 

“What?”

 

“My apartment,” Steve mumbles. “‘S nice.”

 

“What? Your apartment?”

 

“No,” Steve says, then yawns. He points vaguely at his hair. “Nice.”

 

Bucky pauses briefly, but a low whine sounds and he resumes before Steve realizes that he made the low whining sound.

 

“What happened to your apartment?”

 

“Robbed,” Steve answers. “Stole my fuckin’ toaster. Who steals a toaster?”

 

“So why was your landlord – Whatever he was doing, what was he doing?”

 

Steve forces his eyes open, then squints, trying to put the pieces in order. “I was robbed. Rent. Rent was late. But I was robbed. I didn’t have it. Slattery said I should just pay in kind.”

 

“What?” Bucky repeats. In a low growl. Steve shivers a little.

 

“Pay in kind,” Steve repeats. “I said, hell no, you’re a piece of shit, no. Then he used Alpha voice. Made me go to my knees, shut up, open my mouth. Don’t bite. Don’t bite, then open my mouth.”

 

He’s aware of Bucky’s face now. He looks murderous. He already murdered Slattery.

 

“You can’t kill ‘im twice,” Steve mutters absently.

 

“I know a voodoo queen,” Bucky growls.

 

Steve shivers again.

 

“By all means,” he says, waving a vague hand. “This is nice. You’re hot. I like you.”

 

“Steve…”

 

“Can you cuddle me?” Steve asks suddenly. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Cuddle me.”

 

Bucky gets off the floor, then crawls over Steve to lie in the middle of the bed. He pulls Steve into his chest, locking his arms around him. Steve sighs a little, content and happy, then nuzzles lightly at Bucky’s chest.

 

“Better idea,” he says then, “fuck me.”

 

“Steve, you’re in shock.”

 

“I am?” Steve mutters. “Yeah, I thought that was what was happening. Shouldn’t I be, like, comatose?”

 

Bucky presses a hand to the back of his neck again, putting pressure on either side of his spinal column under his skin. Steve hums happily, pressing closer to him.

 

“Were you using your Alpha voice on me?” he asks then. He stops pressing closer to frown. “Wait.”

 

“You weren’t responding,” Bucky answers quietly. “I had to get you to respond.”

 

“Oh,” Steve says. “So that’s why it exists. That seems a helluva lot better reason than making Omegas suck dick against their will. That’s a shitty thing to do.”

 

“Yes,” Bucky agrees, and he sounds like he’s about to panic. Steve has no clue why. He’s half floating with Bucky squeezing the back of his neck.

 

“Hey, wasn’t I s’posed to get a suit?”

 

“Get it tomorrow. You’re staying here.”

 

“Mmkay,” Steve mumbles. “Will you fuck me later?”

 

“Jesus,” Bucky whispers.

 

“Name’s Steve,” Steve says. He presses back into Bucky’s body, inhaling deeply. “I like you a lot. Like, more than I thought I would. And not just ‘cause you’re fucking hot and you killed a guy for me. That’s hot. I think I have a rescue kink. Is that a thing?”

 

“Steve, stop talking.”

 

“Why?” he whines.

 

“You’re saying things you probably wouldn’t say if you were in your right mind.”

 

“Oh,” Steve says. He considers it. “Probably,” he then agrees. “Anyway, I like you a lot a lot. You’re nice, not just hot. And that’s, like, way exceeding _my_ expectations.”

 

“That I’m _nice?_ ” Bucky repeats, sounding a bit like he can’t believe Steve. Almost like he’s horrified.

 

“Mmhmm,” he says. He snuggles closer. “This is nice. You smell nice, you’re nice to me, you pet my hair. Ooh, can we shower and can you wash my hair?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles. He still sounds on the verge of panic. “Jesus. I think I gotta call 911.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Steve, you are in shock.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Nah, I’m fine.”

 

“Jesus,” Bucky says a third time.

 

Steve hums happily, probably because he’s in shock and can’t process the fact that he had been two seconds from being raped some period of time ago. “Hey, what time is it?”

 

“What?”

 

“What time is it?”

 

He feels Bucky lift his left hand and shake back his sleeve. Steve’s reminded of yesterday – was it yesterday? – and hearing his sleeve rustle as he masturbated over the phone to the sound of Steve masturbating. That had been hot. He wants to do that again.

 

“Almost six.”

 

“Really? I should eat. I haven’t eaten since dinner.”

 

“Dinner? It’s not dinner time yet?”

 

“Dinner yesterday,” he clarifies.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky mutters. “Okay. We’re gonna go eat, then we’re gonna take a shower and I’ll wash your hair. You’re gonna stay here for at least a day. Actually, I think I’m just gonna have my people get what’s left in your apartment and bring it here.”

 

“Ehh,” Steve says. “I think that’s something I should think about. Later. Not now. Lemme get back to you on that.”

 

“Fine,” Bucky sighs. Abruptly, he’s scooping Steve up and pulling him into his lap. Steve makes a pleased noise and grinds into his hips. “Fuck – No, Steve, you gotta eat –”

 

“I wanna get fucked,” he whines. His stomach hurts, though, now that Bucky’s calling attention to the idea of food. Actually, he feels nauseous. That’s probably a bad thing. Whatever. He rolls his hips again and starts sucking on a spot on Bucky’s neck. He might leave a hickey. Ooh, he should give Bucky hickeys. He starts sucking harder.

 

“Steve, you need to eat –”

 

He makes a displeased noise. He bites at the spot he’s been sucking on, then moves his mouth to Bucky’s pulse. It’s beating really fast.

 

Bucky squeezes the back of his neck and Steve goes limp with a content hum. His limbs feel like noodles. Noodles, he had noodles for dinner. His stomach is churning.

 

“D’you have noodles?” Steve mumbles.

 

“What?”

 

“Noodles,” Steve says. Bucky’s moving, he realizes. He’s holding him by the ass and the back of his neck and scooting off the bed.

 

“Hold on,” Bucky says.

 

Steve merely hums. “Noodles,” he repeats, trying to indicate that his limbs are the said noodles.

 

“Dammit.”

 

Steve finds he doesn’t care if Bucky’s upset. Is he still going to freak out about having been two seconds away from being raped? He’s not too sure. Possibly.

 

“Steve, hold on,” Bucky commands.

 

His hands move without his brain saying they should. Or maybe his hindbrain overrides his frontal lobe’s lack of concern to obey Bucky’s command. Bucky is still holding on to the back of his neck, so Steve can’t bring himself to care, either. He holds onto his own arms, locking them around Bucky’s neck. Bucky stands up, then starts walking.

 

“We’re going to eat, then we’re going to take a shower. We’re not going to have sex.”

 

“Why not?” he whines. “You want to. I know you want to. You’re an Alpha, ain’t you? You always got it on your mind. Fuck me, please.”

 

He’s sure his polite request will work. Bucky sighs heavily.

 

“No,” he says. “You’re in shock.”

 

Steve pouts. “Dammit,” he mutters.

 

“Keep holding on,” Bucky says, though it’s not much of a command. Maybe a reminder. Steve’s hands remain where they are, regardless.

 

His back and butt land on something else soft, but cooler. Bucky lets go of him, then starts to pull away but stops halfway up.

 

“You can let go now,” he says.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Let go,” Bucky says gently.

 

Steve’s arms remain locked around Bucky’s neck. Steve can’t quite get his muscles to obey his frontal lobe now that his hindbrain has taken over them.

 

“Let go,” Bucky repeats. Commanding. Steve’s fingers detach and his arms drop.

 

“‘S the point, then?” Steve mumbles as Bucky stands up. He flops sideways onto the couch, curling into a ball. “Take over when I can’t?”

 

“S’posed to be so I can make you eat when you’re in heat and don’t wanna do nothin’ but fuck,” Bucky says. He’s walking away. Something’s tightening somewhere.

 

“Bucky?” Steve mumbles.

 

“I don’t got noodles, but I got leftovers from Friday.”

 

Something’s tightening somewhere and Bucky sounds very distant. Steve’s brain is slowly grinding its gears, only going in the wrong direction and his body curls tighter together in a fetal position to ward off hands. The living room is poorly lit. He smells mildew and dust. Someone’s breathing on the back of his neck.

 

“Steve, hey, hey, look at me!”

 

Steve’s eyes snap open obediently. Bucky’s kneeling in front of him, trying to pry his arms off his knees. Steve sucks in a breath that’s too fast and curls up tighter.

 

“Steve, calm down, you’re okay, you’re safe –”

 

“No,” Steve interrupts him, he can’t really hear him, “no,” he mutters, “no, don’t, leave me alone, I didn’t do nothing, swear I didn’t do nothing –!”

 

“Steve, you’re with Bucky, you’re safe, nobody’s gonna hurt you, baby –”

 

“I didn’t do it,” Steve hisses out; there’s breathing on the back of his neck and he smells mildew and dust and an old man and he can’t see –

 

“Steve, breathe!”

 

His lungs stop, slowly expand, slowly contract. His vision clears. Steve swallows, blinking.

 

Bucky’s not touching him, but Steve had said to leave him alone. Steve’s lungs slowly expand and contract.

 

“Don’t go someplace I can’t get you out of,” Bucky whispers.

 

Steve’s lungs expand, contract. He trembles, then unclamps his arms and reaches out. Bucky catches his hands, then tugs him off the couch and into his lap. Steve locks his arms and legs around Bucky’s torso, his lungs continuing to expand and contract without his brain controlling them. Bucky presses a hand to the back of his neck, squeezing, and a weary calm settles over him. His limbs go limp.

 

“You’re okay,” Bucky murmurs.

 

Steve sucks in a breath, the command fading. He lets it out, then sucks it back in, lets it out. He buries his face in Bucky’s neck, filling his nose with the scent of cigars and woodsmoke. It drowns out the smell of the closet.

 

“You’re safe,” Bucky says. “I got you, baby. You’re safe here.”

 

Steve nods absently. Bucky keeps the pressure on the back of his neck. Steve sucks in a breath of his own volition, lets it out slowly.

 

“Where’d you go, huh?" Bucky asks genly. "What just happened?”

 

Steve shakes his head. He hasn’t smelled the mildew and dust in so long, he’d thought he’d gotten over it long ago now. He shakes his head, breathing deep but hard, and Bucky just nods.

 

“Okay. Don’t gotta tell me. It’s okay, you don’t gotta tell me. Let’s eat, okay, baby? Let’s get some food in you. I got the Chinese food from Friday, is that okay?”

 

He nods. Bucky shifts onto his knees, then stands up, and this time Steve doesn’t need to be commanded to hold on. Bucky lets go of his neck in the kitchen, leaving his other hand wrapped under his ass to hold him up, opens the fridge and starts taking out take out containers with his now free hand. Steve half watches out through his peripheral vision, trying to focus on the light and the smell of cigars. Nobody’s breathing down his neck. There’s nobody but him and Bucky in this well lit, wide and spacious kitchen. The closets in this place are probably all bigger than Steve’s living room.

 

Bucky heats up food, Steve’s slipping back into the daze but can’t bring himself to care. Bucky heats up the food, carries it and him back into the living room, then sits down with Steve still in his arms.

 

“Can you eat?” Bucky asks him.

 

“‘Course I can,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky holds a fork up to his lips anyway. Steve opens his mouth, barely at all, and Bucky pushes orange chicken past his lips. Steve chews on auto pilot, opens his mouth when Bucky holds the fork up, chews, opens his mouth. The ache in his gut starts to dissipate.

 

“There you go,” Bucky’s murmuring. “You’re doing good, baby. Doing real good for me here, can you eat a little more for me, doll?”

 

Steve’s tired, but he opens his mouth anyway. He can’t keep track of time and he can’t count how much he’s eaten. He’s not paying attention, not until he’s aware that he’s probably eaten more than he does in one sitting but his stomach isn’t churning to tell him to knock it off. Bucky’s switched to lo mein by then.

 

“Don’t like lo mein,” he mumbles.

 

Bucky puts the forkful of lo mein away. “I got egg rolls,” he says.

 

Steve slumps against his shoulder. “‘M done,” he mutters.

 

Bucky’s fork-less hand rubs up and down his back. “Okay. You want me to wash your hair still?”

 

Steve nods vaguely. Bucky stands up from the couch and Steve holds on without being told again. He shuts his eyes, feeling exhausted. Next thing he knows, he’s being set down on the bed again. Bucky kneels down in front of him and starts unlacing his sneakers. Steve looks around, the curtains are open but the sun’s set already. The shadows of the corners are steadily expanding.

 

“Turn the lights on,” he says abruptly.

 

Bucky tugs out his phone and taps at something. The overhead lights in the bedroom switch on, snap the shadows back into place and Steve relaxes a little.

 

Bucky takes off his socks, then tugs on the waistband of Steve’s sweats. He lies back on the bed and lifts his hips so Bucky can slip them and his underwear off, and he’s so tired he can’t even bring his mind back around to sex. Steve blinks absently up at the ceiling. Two seconds. That’s how close he’d come. If Bucky had been two seconds later, even, it would have already been done.

 

Bucky lifts his torso off the bed and Steve hardly realizes that he’s gone deadweight. Bucky pulls his shirt off, then scoops him up again and carries him into the bathroom. He puts him down on the marble bench and Steve slumps onto it when Bucky lets go to strip himself.

 

Bucky’s only away for a second, though, then he’s coming back and putting a hand on his hip. He turns on the shower, then lifts Steve up again. He’s still deadweight, already falling asleep by the time Bucky gets him under the water. He’s still processing. The water is warm, just hot enough to be comfortable.

 

“They stole ma’s picture frame,” he mumbles.

 

“Who did?”

 

“Dunno,” Steve whimpers. He hugs Bucky’s torso without realizing. “They stole the picture frame and stepped on her picture. Don’t got any other pictures of my dad. They stole the frame and messed up my only picture of both my parents.”

 

“I’ll find ‘em, baby.”

 

Steve clings to him, then. Bucky’s working shampoo into his hair with only one hand. He squeezes his eyes shut and hides his face, his whole body trembling, but Bucky has an arm wrapped securely around his shoulders. He presses a hand to the back of his neck and his shudders abate.

 

He actually falls asleep in the shower. The last thing he recalls is Bucky tipping his head back to rinse the soap from his hair. He’s being lowered into a mattress and blankets are being pulled around him, a body pressing to his back. The body smells like woodsmoke, not like mildew and dust and age, and there’s no breath on the back of his neck, it’s falling on his hair. Steve falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _steve's backstory is slowly being unlocked. if you enjoyed this, please leave a comment and tell me what you liked, comments make my day. and head over to chaos's tumblr and reblog the art for this story, it's so good. ttyl everyone._
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	9. oh, the harlot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings for this chapter: discussion of past child sexual abuse.**
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> _the morning after. i hope you're on the edge of your seat, bc this is a doozy of plot development._

#  _oh, the harlot_

 

Steve wakes up more than once during the night, gasping and smelling mildew, but each time Bucky yanks him tight against his body, proving to be firm and warm and nothing like who his dreams are insisting is behind him. Each time, the scent of mildew gets overtaken quickly by woodsmoke and Steve just falls asleep again.

 

At last, Steve wakes up because of something other than bad dreams and, for once, he wakes up with Bucky still in the bed. From the way his chest fills and deflates, Bucky’s awake, but he’s still pressed to Steve's back anyway and holding on tightly.

 

“What time is it?” Steve mumbles. His voice is scratchy from sleep.

 

Bucky twists away to look over his shoulder, then presses back against Steve. “Little after eleven,” he says.

 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Steve asks quietly.

 

“I can take a day off. You okay?”

 

Steve doesn’t answer. He shrugs, then shrinks back into Bucky’s body. He pulls the blankets up around his neck, so his whole body feels covered.

 

“What’re you thinking, doll?”

 

Steve shrugs again. Gears are grinding in his head, going forwards now. The events of yesterday still feel distant, like they happened to somebody else and Steve just saw it on the news, but the bad things have always felt distant. His mother’s death is distant. Garrett tricking him into signing away his life feels distant. The closet feels distant. His foster father feels distant.

 

“You really don’t seem okay," Bucky says abruptly. "I think I should call a doctor.”

 

“‘M fine,” Steve mumbles. It’s all very distant.

 

“You’re shaking.”

 

Steve blinks, then glances down at his body. He is trembling still. He shrugs and shrinks closer.

 

“Steve…” Bucky says gently.

 

Steve just shrugs again.

 

“I could call a shrink?" Bucky suggests. "You want somebody to talk to?”

 

Steve shakes his head. “Nah. Just… distant.”

 

“What?”

 

“Feels like it happened to somebody else," Steve admits. Dissociation, he knows. "‘S normal,” he finishes tiredly.

 

“What’s normal?" Bucky says, almost sharp with concern. "Fucking hell, Steve, how is this normal?”

 

Steve just shrugs. “It always feels like this.”

 

“What?”

 

It’s a low growl, a tone of sympathetic anger, and Steve shuts his eyes. He doesn’t feel any rested for having slept.

 

“This happened before? Your landlord –”

 

“Nah,” Steve mumbles. It’s far off, far away and it doesn’t feel like it happened to him, so it doesn’t bother him. It happens all the time, to lots of people, Steve’s a member of the majority in this case. “Not him. Foster system.”

 

“Jesus,” Bucky hisses.

 

Steve shrugs, just shrugs again. “Happens all the time. Happens to everybody. World’s a mess. Doesn’t matter.”

 

“Jesus,” Bucky whispers again. He whispers it under his breath and maybe this time he’s invoking the name and not only cursing with it.

 

“You’re nice,” Steve murmurs, feeling weary and content to lie there, where he belongs. In the embrace of who he belongs to. It’s nice.

 

“I gotta call a doctor. Therapist, something. I can’t do this.”

 

“Do what?” Steve asks vaguely.

 

One of Bucky’s hands lifts from his waist and Steve snatches it before Bucky can move too far. “Don’t let go?” Steve asks quickly.

 

Bucky hesitates, then hugs him close again. Steve relaxes.

 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to do this, Steve.”

 

Steve’s eyes snap open and he goes rigid. “What?”

 

“You’re – I don’t know," Bucky sighs, "you’re seriously in a vulnerable position and I’m taking advantage of it –”

 

“Fuck off,” Steve cuts him off, relaxing again since that’s all it is. “Grow a pair or something. I’m not a child, I dealt with my shit and you’re not taking advantage of nothing, I’m taking advantage of you.”

 

“What?” Bucky asks.

 

“You’re lonely,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky goes quiet. Steve shuts his eyes, breathing deep and slow. He really just wants to go back to sleep at this point.

 

“I’m lonely?” Bucky whispers then. “What?”

 

Steve nods. “Lonely," he repeats. "You work all the time, your place doesn’t look like anybody lives here, you ain’t got friends but your mobsters, you don’t talk to your only family. Lonely. I’m taking advantage of it, so I can live with you.”

 

“Why?”

 

Steve shrugs a single shoulder. “Get out. Afford food. Not be a punching bag. Remember?”

 

Bucky doesn’t let go of him and Steve’s close to falling asleep again, so it still doesn’t matter. He’s not being shown the door, so he’s allowed to shut down.

 

“You meant opportunity, didn’t you.”

 

Steve nods.

 

“So, I’m lonely and you’re vulnerable. Great. This is a fucking fantastic start to a relationship.”

 

“We’re honest?” Steve tells him. “Silver lining.”

 

Bucky exhales sharply, like he’s not comforted any by that, but he’s still not pushing Steve out of the bed or anything so Steve still doesn’t care.

 

“Great,” Bucky sighs out.

 

“Stop fussin’ an’ lemme sleep,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky raises a hand, but only to start combing his hair. Steve exhales through his nose, inhales deeply.

 

“You want a shrink, at least? I know a few.”

 

“Lemme get back to you on that,” Steve answers faintly. He falls asleep again.

 

He wakes up facing Bucky next, an arm curled around Bucky’s thighs and his face pressed into his hip as Bucky is sitting up. Steve stirs, sniffs to clear his nostrils, then sits up a little to press into his waist.

 

Bucky puts a hand on his back, bending to kiss the top of his head.

 

“If I open my eyes, am I gonna see you working?” Steve mumbles.

 

“It’s one in the afternoon, Steve. I’m just checking a couple emails.”

 

Steve opens his eyes. “Is it?” he mutters, sitting up. Bucky's holding a tablet in his lap and Steve checks the time at the top of the screen. “Oh.”

 

It’s one o’clock on a Monday, then. Bucky’s wearing sweats and nothing else, and Steve is dressed in an overlarge t-shirt and boxers. Steve doesn’t work Mondays, anyway, but not even he sleeps this late.

 

Normally. Yesterday – he begins to remember.

 

“You okay?” Bucky asks quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “Sure.”

 

“Are you, really?” Bucky presses.

 

Steve just shrugs.

 

Bucky sets down his tablet to brush at his hair. Steve sits up more, completely, and Bucky combs through his hair with his fingers a few times.

 

“I got some people in the NYPD,” Bucky says gently. “I had ‘em check through pawn shops and all, for your stuff. They’re still lookin’. What all got stolen?”

 

“TV, laptop, coffee maker,” Steve mutters.

 

“Toaster, too,” Bucky adds, a sorry smile curling his lip.

 

Steve nods. He exhales heavily and leans against Bucky’s shoulder, raising a hand to rub his eyes and work the gunk of sleep from them.

 

“What kinda TV?" Bucky asks. "Laptop, coffee maker, all of it. Be specific, doll.”

 

Steve shrugs yet again. “Cheap TV, cheap laptop, cheap fuckin’ coffee maker. I don’t know. I don’t even know everything gone. It doesn’t even matter, it’s just stuff. Was gonna get rid of it anyway.”

 

Bucky kisses his temple.

 

“Ma’s picture frame,” Steve mumbles, then stops to breathe and work his emotions into calm. “It was brass. Probably took it ‘cause it looked gold.”

 

“You got any photos?" Bucky prompts. "Like, just any kinda photo taken in your place would have the stuff in the background.”

 

Steve leans his head into Bucky’s shoulder, thinking about the question. He had pictures taken in his apartment. He’d had a few parties over the past few years, a few get-togethers, and he had to have taken pictures at least a few times. He has a picture of Darcy with a literal egg on her face standing in his kitchen; his toaster and coffee maker had to be in it.

 

He reaches for Bucky’s tablet. After a second, Bucky puts it into his hand. Steve opens Firefox and goes to Google drive, signs out of Bucky's account and into his, then opens a folder of pictures. He isn’t neat with his files, they’re organized however Google has them ordered, but they’re all in one folder.

 

He finds Darcy’s egg picture. He smiles reflexively at the splattering of egg yolk on her shocked face, remembering how he’d fallen to the bubbling linoleum floor with how hard he was laughing, but the smile is tight and doesn’t last long. There’s the cheap coffee maker in the background.

 

“That’s good,” Bucky says, kissing his cheek. “You wanna look through those and find the ones with your stuff in ‘em?”

 

“I don’t remember what all is missing,” Steve mutters back.

 

He needs to go back. Bucky must realize that, because his arm snakes around his waist and tightens.

 

“Okay,” he says quietly. “You can go back tonight or tomorrow, might as well pack up your stuff.”

 

“Not working tonight,” Steve says. He sets the tablet on his lap, raising a hand to rub at his face again. “Tomorrow, I think.”

 

“Do you have to?”

 

He sounds displeased at the idea, like he’s thinking of telling him not to. Steve considers it, then shrugs. If Bucky tells him he doesn’t want him to go, he won’t. He doesn’t want to go, either.

 

“Pissed Rollins off Saturday,” Steve says. “Some kid got lost, Darcy ‘n’ me, we stopped to call her mom an’ get her home. Then ‘cause Russo was bein’ an ass about it, we quit the night early.”

 

“When did your apartment get broken into?” Bucky asks quietly.

 

“Saturday night,” Steve mutters, deflating.

 

“Alright,” Bucky sighs. “Okay. Fuck Rollins. Fuck ‘im. You’re mine now, okay? Fang can’t touch you.”

 

There’s the order to not. Steve nods gently; it’s a good point. Magpies are no threat to wolves.

 

“Tell you what we’re gonna do," Bucky starts. "You still need that suit. We’re gonna go get you fitted, then I’m gonna take you to dinner. Just you ‘n’ me, okay?”

 

“Sounds good,” Steve mutters. He puts the tablet aside and twists so he can swing a leg over Bucky’s hips and settle in his lap. He presses their lips together and Bucky catches him by the waist, then the jaw.

 

And gently pushes him back.

 

“We gotta talk,” Bucky says.

 

“I don’t wanna talk,” Steve snaps. “Can we forget it? Please?”

 

“No, we gotta talk,” Bucky insists. “You got issues.”

 

“The whole damn world’s got issues!” Steve argues. “I ain’t special.”

 

“You’re special to me,” Bucky says sharply. Steve blinks. “Look, I don’t wanna take advantage of you. And you’re right, I picked you ‘cause I knew you wouldn't take convincing, but it ain’t fair to you.”

 

Steve blinks some more. Bucky lets go of Steve's jaw and brushes back his hair.

 

"I can't do unfair, Steve," Bucky admits.

 

“So, what?” Steve asks. “You’re not gonna take it back. You can’t.”

 

Bucky’s face is impassive. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, because, he _can._ He can take it back.

 

“I’m yours,” Steve insists nervously.

 

“‘Cause you wanna be or what?” Bucky asks. Steve can’t read his expression or voice, and for once, it’s not thrilling.

 

Steve bites down on his lip and doesn’t answer.

 

“You wanna be mine or you just want an escape?” Bucky says. “You wanna be mine or you’re messed up and you don’t know how to get affection other ways?”

 

“I’m not messed up!” Steve counters defensively.

 

“You been messed with!” Bucky says, eyebrows raising and a tone of concern finally affecting his voice. “Steve, you –”

 

Bucky breaks off, swallowing and curling his lip downward.

 

“I what?” Steve snaps.

 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Bucky asks.

 

“I what?” Steve repeats in a harsh snarl. Damaged? Not good enough because of it? Too naive, too young, too broken, he _what?_

 

“You remember the things you said this morning?” Bucky says. Guarded again. Cautious, even.

 

Steve thinks back, then shakes his head. “What am I?” he demands.

 

“You told me… stuff happened to you,” Bucky mutters, reluctant.

 

Steve falters, trying to figure out what the hell he’d said while half-asleep. He'd thought he'd dreamed any conversation before now.

 

“While you were in the system,” Bucky adds quietly.

 

“Oh,” Steve murmurs.

 

Bucky grimaces. Steve lowers his gaze. “Oh,” he whispers again.

 

Bucky raises a hand and brushes at his hair. Steve drops against Bucky's body and hides his face in his neck.

 

“I gotta know you know what you’re doing,” Bucky says gently. He comes through Steve's hair again. “That I’m not hurting you worse than you already been hurt.”

 

Steve sits up. He inhales sharply through his nose and blows it out hard past his lips.

 

“Steve, you gotta tell me,” Bucky says.

 

“While I was in the system, I was a trouble kid,” Steve starts, not looking Bucky in the eye.

 

“That’s not what I meant –” Bucky says but Steve raises a hand and covers his mouth.

 

“I caused trouble,” Steve goes on. Bucky looks worried behind Steve’s hand. “So I got put in a house with other troublemakers. The guy who ran it, he was known to get kids to learn discipline or something. Used to be in the military, decorated vet and everything. Thing is, all the kids who came out his house weren’t learned for it. They were just scared. He wouldn’t hit us or nothing. He put us in closets.”

 

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Bucky mutters against his hand.

 

“Shuddup,” Steve mumbles. “I want to tell you; telling people is healthy, shrink says. He locked us in closets, then he’d come in with us and he’d… He would touch us. Talk down to us while he was doing it, make it like it was our fault, that he didn’t want to do what he was doing but we didn’t give him a choice. And we were all too scared to say nothing, not even to each other. I only found out that I wasn’t the only one after Garrett adopted me. I ran in to one of the kids who’d been in the house with me a few years ago and we talked about it. He’s a therapist now, he told me I could see one of his colleagues for cheap even though I don’t have insurance, so yeah, I know what I’m doing, I been to therapy, I ain’t messed up and I ain’t just lookin’ for love in the wrong places.”

 

Bucky is finally silent. Steve drops his hand from Bucky's mouth to his shoulder.

 

“You’re nice,” Steve says apprehensively. This is crossing a boundary from what their relationship is supposed to be about, but Steve has to say it. “You’re kind and gentle with me, even though I never thought somebody like you would," Steve insists. "You treat me right, right?”

 

“‘S basic etiquette,” Bucky says quietly.

 

“Exactly,” Steve agrees. “Basic etiquette for real relationships, only I don’t have relationships, I have clients, so I don’t need it. I don’t need a safe word ‘cause I know how to handle it if something starts hurting or I can’t breathe or I’m not comfortable. I don’t need aftercare, I don’t need kindness, I don’t need gentle nothing.”

 

“You’re human,” Bucky grumbles.

 

Steve shrugs, looking down. “It’s not what I get paid for. I’m not a lover, I’m a harlot. But you’re good to me," he says. "I know what we’re doing, and it’s not what I get paid for. I mean," he adds, cracking a smile, "first thing you did was ask if I had a safe word.” He gives a dry laugh and shakes his head. “I know you’re not gonna do something to me I don’t want you to,” Steve finishes.

 

“It’s not just ‘cause you feel like you got no choice?” Bucky says, still wary.

 

“I got plenty of choices,” Steve answers with a shrug. “We got forgers, I can get somebody to make new papers for me and vanish, I can start skimming the books and scram, I can wait it out until I’m in a better place, I got plenty of options.”

 

Steve leans in and presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s neck, then lifts his lips to whisper in his ear. “You’re the best one yet, sir.”

 

“Steve, I ain’t fallin’ for you whispering in my ear,” Bucky says. “Quit tryna deflect.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes, sitting up again. “What else do I gotta do to convince you?” he asks sharply.

 

“Quit actin’ like a horny teenager, act like an adult for once,” Bucky retorts.

 

Steve sits up, scowling. Bucky scowls back.

 

“Why?” Steve demands. “What more _adult_ do you need out of me? I told you what happened, I told you I’ve dealt with it, I told you I wanna be yours, what more do you want?”

 

“Do you want to be mine or do you just want the out?” Bucky snaps.

 

“Does it matter?” Steve retorts.

 

“It matters to me!” Bucky insists angrily.

 

Steve gives pause. Bucky keeps his gaze guarded, calculating and – again, for once – not hungry. There’s something behind the evaluations that looks hurt.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs. He drops his gaze, but it’s not an act to rile up Barnes, it’s shame.

 

He knows Bucky is lonely. He’s been preying on Bucky’s loneliness this whole time. He should have realized, he shouldn't have said…

 

“You’re right.” Steve draws in a breath, putting aside the fact that he doesn’t want to talk about anything and he just wants to pretend all his shit never happened. Bucky is as human as him. Humans crave love, not opportunity.

 

Bucky combs through his hair without meeting Steve's gaze, like he’s uncomfortable having to expose his thoughts, his hurt or whatever. Like he’s uncomfortable baring his throat. Steve’s had to learn how to lift his chin for his own survival, but Bucky’s probably never done that.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again. “This isn’t conventional, you know that.”

 

“I’m not asking you to fall in love with me,” Bucky says stiffly.

 

“I might,” Steve says without thinking.

 

Bucky’s expression flashes startled for a full second before turning neutral. Steve clenches his jaw, swallowing compulsively. He shrugs, looking down.

 

“Alright,” Bucky exhales. His eyes search Steve’s face. “Alright.”

 

“Maybe maybe’s enough?” Steve suggests.

 

He doesn’t want Bucky to take anything back. And sure, there’s room for love in his plan. He wants to belong to James Barnes for the rest of his life, they’re bound to fall in love along the way. Admittedly, love doesn’t matter much to him right then, it’s not a crucial part of his story; food and a kind roof over his head, neighbors that don’t cook meth and agency over his own life, that’s what he’s looking for. But if the maybe of love will make Bucky less hesitant to have him, he’ll admit it, even if it frightens him. The last love he had was supposed to have been unconditional and eternal, and it had still turned bitter on him. It hadn’t really been his mother’s fault, it had been the chemo messing with her head, but it still hurt even seven or more years later.

 

“Alright,” Bucky repeats a third time. “That’s enough.”

 

Enough for this conversation, enough for his needs, enough for Steve, whatever, it’s enough. Steve kisses him and this time Bucky grips his ribs with fingers tight enough to bruise. This is what their relationship is about, the way Bucky kisses him with hunger and the way it makes Steve go pliant in his grip, and the page is turned. But there might be room for love somewhere.

 

The kiss extends. Bucky drags his lips down to his neck, and Steve, like it’s the most natural reflex in the world, bares his throat.

 

Bucky’s teeth leave small marks, going down, then, shocking Steve into full arousal, Bucky kisses possessively over the scent gland buried under Steve's skin. Like he’s aware of the space left for love between them.

 

“We got to get goin’,” Bucky murmurs. His voice vibrates down into his scent gland, and Steve whines softly. “I can give you what you need quick or you can have it later, nice ‘n’ slow. What’d’you want?”

 

“Both?” Steve suggests, rolling his hips into Bucky's.

 

Bucky grabs Steve's hips instead and grips them tighter. Bucky hums, then his lips part over his scent gland as he’s humming and the vibrations send shivers through Steve's body. Steve groans and tries desperately to break Bucky's hold to rock into his lap.

 

“I think you only got one in you today,” Bucky says, however still sending vibrations through his scent gland and Steve would beg to differ. “Twenty minutes now or a few good hours later, doll. Pick one.”

 

“Ugh,” Steve says emphatically. Twenty minutes would be over in a blink of an eye, and he really would rather be splayed out for Bucky’s pleasure for a few hours rather than a blink. But how long would _later_ take to arrive?

 

“Pick one or I’ll pick for you,” Bucky says, then – _fuck him, seriously_ – he licks at Steve’s scent gland and drags his lips up his neck. “I’m thinkin’ now.”

 

“‘S no fair,” Steve grumbles, “you’ll get to come later, too.”

 

He feels Bucky grin against his neck. “Exactly,” he purrs, right into his ear and it makes his whole body shudder.

 

“Later,” Steve says quickly. “I wanna come later.”

 

“Alright,” Bucky murmurs, but then he doesn’t lift off his neck. “I think I wanna have one now, though.”

 

“Oh, fuck you,” Steve sighs, but he doesn’t mean it. This is why he wants Barnes. He’s electric and makes him feel alive.

 

Bucky laughs, sounding pleased, but Steve’s already squirming to get out of his grip and get his mouth on him. Bucky holds firm to his hips, however.

 

“Where’re you goin’?” he murmurs.

 

“Suck you off,” Steve says.

 

Bucky laughs again. “Nah,” he says and Steve pouts. “I just want you to squirm in my lap.”

 

“I can do that,” Steve mutters.

 

“And you’re not allowed to change your mind,” Bucky adds. He lets go of Steve's hips with one hand, to hold it out, palm flat before Steve. “Spit,” he orders.

 

Steve licks his lips. He bends and instead of spitting, he kisses Bucky’s palm with an open mouth. Steve lets saliva pool past his lips onto Bucky's palm and spreads it around with his tongue. Bucky lets out a low, approving growl.

 

“Good boy,” he murmurs as Steve lifts back up.

 

Bucky closes his wet palm and snakes it between their bodies to work it under the waistband of his pants. Steve drops his gaze, licking his lips, but Bucky keeps his hand down the front of his pants, not drawing himself out so Steve can watch. Bucky bites his ear and Steve shuts his eyes, rolling them back, and he can hear and smell what he can’t see. Bucky continues mouthing at his neck, Steve can feel the lump between them that is Bucky’s hand, but that means he can’t rock into Bucky's cock and tease both of them with a little bit of friction. He can squirm, but not enough to gain sensation.

 

“Doin’ real good, baby boy,” Bucky murmurs in his ear. “You want somethin’?”

 

“Want you to come,” Steve mumbles. Bucky lets out a low hum, somewhere between a groan and a growl. “Want you to mark me up," Steve continues, "so everybody knows who I belong to.”

 

“You want that?” Bucky growls, fully a growl.

 

Steve turns his head out, so the side of his neck is fully available and exposed, and Bucky instantly accepts the invitation. He latches onto the side of Steve's neck, starts sucking and biting, the movements of his hand between them growing faster. Steve starts trying to rock into the gap between his thighs and Bucky growls into his neck once more, only going faster.

 

“I’m getting ideas, doll,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m thinkin’ Friday, I’m gonna get you a little somethin’ to wear to the gala under your suit.”

 

“Is it panties?” Steve asks.

 

“Nah, but that’s a good idea, too,” Bucky says. 

 

He licks a stripe up his neck, then claims his mouth in an open kiss. Steve melts under it, until Bucky seems to remember that he was saying something and pulls his lips back. 

 

“I’m gonna get you a vibrator,” Bucky says in a low, filthy tone. “To fill up that greedy ass’a yours. I’ll have the remote to it, I’ll turn it on and off whenever I want and you’ll just have to smile an’ look pretty like you ain’t about to fall apart.”

 

“Oh, God,” Steve exhales.

 

“Ya like that, don’tcha?” Bucky purrs. “You’ll love bein’ at my mercy, my little slut.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve sighs. He’s clenching on nothing thinking about it.

 

Bucky’s lips return to Steve's neck, his breath falling on his scent gland hot and dry, “You’re a whore for me, ain’tcha?” he asks, his tone a pleased growl.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, wishing he had picked _now_ over later because he’s aching now.

 

“Gonna be only my whore,” Bucky growls. He’s fucking his own fist so hard Steve is moved by it. “Just mine, my little cockslut. Those lips are mine, made to suck my dick, your tight ass is mine, my greedy hole to fill up. You’re _my_ harlot.”

 

 _Bucky's_ harlot. There's no way Steve can't catch the significance of Bucky’s wording. Steve is not a lover, he's a harlot, but here, he's _Bucky’s_ harlot. “Oh, God,” he breathes out. “Oh, God, oh –”

 

“Wishin’ you decided to come now?” Bucky growls. Steve nods desperately. “Nope. Can’t change your mind, baby boy.”

 

“Why not?” Steve whines, trying to rock his hips into Bucky's fist. “Why not now and later?”

 

“You’ll just fall asleep on me once you’ve come, baby,” Bucky tells him, “you’ve had so much on your mind you’re lookin’ to tire yourself out. I’m gonna treat you right and get you floatin’, doll, can’t do that in the five minutes we got before we gotta get goin’.”

 

Steve whines again, but does nothing to change Bucky’s mind. He wants whatever Bucky wants to give him. Having brushed the high of subspace the first night he'd been with Bucky, Steve wants to feel it for real.

 

“Gonna dress you up," Bucky keeps talking as his fist moves faster between him and Steve. "You’re gonna be a knockout, doll, every eye in the place is gonna be on you, but you’ll only be thinkin’ about me, won’tcha?” Bucky asks. “My little slut thinkin’ about when he can get next get my cock in his ass.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve promises, and the boxers he’s wearing are wet by now.

 

“All you’re gonna be thinkin’ ‘bout, ain’t it, baby boy?” Bucky demands

 

“Yes, sir," Steve says, "yessir, yes,  _God,_ why can’t you fuck me now?”

 

“Oh, you know I wanna treat you right, baby,” Bucky coos, his breath coming fast and warm but not moist on the nape of Steve's neck and not the back of it. “Gonna have you beggin’ for me, gonna lay you out and work you open with my tongue, get that sweet slick comin’ out you in gushes, oh, baby boy –”

 

Then Bucky'’s cutting his own sentence off to groan, lips hanging open as he presses his face into Steve’s neck. Warmth and wetness blossoms between them and Steve swallows spit as his mouth waters at the smell of it.

 

“Baby,” Bucky murmurs, voice gone scratchy, as he mouths absently at Steve's neck. “You wanna clean me up, baby? Bet you don’t wanna waste your sir’s come, do you?”

 

“Oh, God,” Steve whimpers, the phrase _your sir_ practically killing half of his brain cells, “no, sir, lemme – Sir, please –”

 

Bucky extracts his hand from his sweats and holds it up to Steve’s lips. Steve opens his mouth and begins to lick the salt and bitter clean off it.

 

Bucky’s hand, wet as it is, brushes his bangs back when he’s done. “You’re somethin’ else, Steve Rogers,” he says quietly.

 

Steve sweeps his tongue from corner to corner of his lips, savoring the last traces of the taste. He drops his gaze, and in his peripheral vision, he sees Bucky’s lips curl in a predatory smirk.

 

“Not enough for you, baby boy?” he asks roughly. “Still thirsty?”

 

Steve nods. Bucky leans back, then pushes down the waistband of his sweats. Steve half whimpers, thinking about Bucky making him choke, but that’s not what he’s being given right now. He bends, shimmying down Bucky’s thighs to get low, then licks him clean.

 

Bucky combs his hair again. Steve nudges his nose against the line of Bucky's torso, lips parted as saliva pools around his teeth, and Bucky’s fingers close on his hair, holding him still.

 

“Ain’t got time for that, doll,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve pouts firmly, but sits up and kisses him. Bucky licks into Steve's mouth, fingers tight on his hair, then pulls him back and presses his still spit-slick hand to his waist.

 

“Gonna have to calm down, Stevie,” Bucky says, a thumb caressing his ribs through his shirt. “You wanna take a shower?”

 

Steve shakes his head, because a shower would only have him watching the water run down Bucky’s back and tempt him to break the rules. He’s already calming down anyway with Bucky gently petting him.

 

“How ‘bout we go eat a little somethin’, hmm?” Bucky suggests lightly. “Get some water in you, you’re probably actually thirsty.”

 

“Mmkay,” Steve murmurs. He bites his lip, then drops his gaze and adds, in a small voice: “Can you carry me?”

 

He likes the way Bucky holds him. Like he’s precious to him.

 

“Sure,” Bucky answers easily, and Steve slips his arms around his neck to hide his face again.

 

Bucky shifts off the bed, hands curling under Steve's ass and around his back. Steve buries his nose in the line of Bucky's neck, drinking deeply his scent, the hand on his back slides up to the back of his neck. It closes, then gently squeezes. Steve exhales through his nose, his eyes shut, and he gradually goes limp.

 

“There you go,” Bucky murmurs. He squeezes the back of his neck, and it sends a sensation like a hum of content through his body. His voice is right next to his ear, but his breath is dry and warm on his neck.

 

Steve is much calmer than he’d been yesterday, anyway. Nothing has set him off like yesterday in years, and yesterday wasn't even the first time Steve had had his agency robbed of him by an Alpha's commanding tone for something sexual. Maybe it was the shock of having his apartment broken into or that it was happening in his home at all. Steve isn't sure, but yesterday still feels distant to him and he's okay with dissociating from what happened. He focuses on being cradled in Bucky's arm like he's something precious and worthy of real love instead.

 

Bucky’s hand strokes up and down Steve's back as he carries Steve down the stairs, taking slow steps. Steve’s arms hang past his neck, crossing at the elbows. He watches through bleary eyes the path retreating behind them. Steve doesn’t want to admit that Bucky had a point, because it would mean admitting he was wrong, but he feels better for having talked to Bucky. Steve isn't great with communication, but he’s starting to see the appeal. 

 

“What’re you thinkin’ for food?” Bucky asks.

 

“Hmmm,” Steve answers absently. “Dunno. What’d’you got?”

 

“Uh…”

 

Steve chuckles a little as Bucky takes a hand off his back to open the fridge.

 

“Lean Cuisine,” he says finally.

 

“Ew,” Steve answers. “And you tell me to buy real food.”

 

“You wanna go out for lunch?” Bucky suggests with a laugh.

 

“Starbucks,” Steve decides, craving coffee. “You’re buying.”

 

“‘Course I’m buying,” Bucky sighs, though Steve knows its no skin off his teeth and it only makes him smile. Bucky turns away from the fridge, already heading back up the stairs. “Lemme guess, you like frappuccinos.”

 

“Fuck no,” Steve snorts. “I prefer plain coffee or lattes.”

 

“I admit, I never got the appeal of Starbucks.”

 

“I will educate you,” Steve mumbles. Bucky laughs again.

 

Then he’s setting Steve back down on the bed and Steve reacts by lying back and stretching his arms above his head. Bucky heads for his dresser, then the closet, and Steve is struck by something.

 

“Do I have clothes?” he says.

 

Bucky glances over him, then points to a stack of clothes on his dresser. “You got what you were wearing yesterday.”

 

Steve scowls. “Can we stop at my apartment on our way out so I can pick up some clothes? I don’t wanna look through it yet, but I don’t wanna go out in sweats and a Green Day shirt.”

 

Bucky shrugs, turning back to his closet. “Sure,” he says.

 

Steve sits up then, then looks down at what he’s wearing. It’s the same shirt he slept in on Friday, but he hadn’t actually looked at it then. It’s a dark green, olive drab and worn soft, with faded black letters over the chest. They’re worn out and all that’s left is the parts of an _R_ _M,_ the tail of a _Y_ and the cross and one leg of an  _A._  

 

Steve gets up, grabs his sweats and swaps them for the boxers, which are too big and slick-stained anyway, but stays in the shirt. It hangs past his hips, almost halfway down his thighs, and it smells like Bucky still.

 

“You were in the army?” he asks then. He remembers that Bucky had mentioned it their first Friday together, but only briefly. Steve is wondering about it now.

 

Bucky has, by then, pulled off his sweats, stained despite Steve’s efforts. He's replaced the sweats with boxers and slacks, but he stops in tugging on a white tank top to look at Steve. Bucky blinks, then drops his gaze to the faded letters on the shirt Steve is wearing.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says simply. “For a while.”

 

Steve leans against the dresser, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “What happened?”

 

Bucky shrugs. He pulls the undershirt down his torso, tucking it into his undone slacks, then pulls a dress shirt over his shoulders and begins to button it. Steve pushes off the dresser and walks over, then bats away Bucky's hands and starts doing it himself.

 

“I told you stuff,” Steve says gently. “You don’t have to tell me, but… I’m curious. The Army doesn’t really lead to the mafia, does it?”

 

“Not usually,” Bucky says in a quiet tone.

 

Steve glances up at him, then takes the tie that Bucky had pulled from the closet and drapes it over his neck, lifting Bucky's collar to knot it. Steve waits.

 

“I got discharged,” Bucky says. “Court-martialed, actually.”

 

“What happened?” Steve asks.

 

“I met Aleksei Seyrbakov,” Bucky answers. “Junior, not senior. Next thing I knew, I was smuggling weapons.”

 

“Didn’t Junior try to kill you?” Steve asks, looking up from the half tied knot.

 

Bucky laughs, and it’s devoid of mirth. “Yeah,” he says. He sounds like he’s still bitter about it. “Old man Seyrbakov handed the helm to me over his sons, yeah, Alyosha and Mikhail were pissed.”

 

“Alyosha?” Steve repeats. Pieces of the puzzle that is James Barnes are staring to put themselves together in his head. Seyrbakov’s sons were supposedly deported after the assassination attempt, despite the fact that they had been born in New York.

 

“Russians are big on nicknames,” Bucky adds. “I meant Aleksei.”

 

Steve nods, then pulls Bucky's tie tight at his throat. He adjusts it, then turns down Bucky's collar. He brushes at Bucky’s shoulders, then, holding on to them, lifts up on his toes. Bucky’s hands come to rest on his elbows and he bends to kiss him. It’s light, a bare brush of their lips, and Steve drops back onto his heels. He pulls back after and Bucky’s hands follow him for a moment before dropping.

 

“So,” Steve goes on and Bucky looks down at his shirt tails before starting tuck them in, “how’d you join the army? I’m guessing it was the US Army?”

 

“Well,” Bucky starts, pursing his lips like he’s considering what he’s about to say, “first I robbed a bank to get the money to come to New York.”

 

Steve can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Then Bucky cracks a smile and he knows he is. Steve rolls his eyes and smacks his arm with the back of his hand.

 

“Seriously,” he says. “Tell me your life story, Barnes.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes right back. “I joined the US army at 18 to get a green card for me and my sister. Got kicked out at 23, joined the Russian mafia instead, and here we are.”

 

Bucky shrugs. Steve tilts his head to the side, thinking, Bucky was the same age as him now when he was discharged from the army. Steve assumes it was a dishonorable discharge.

 

“You got your green card, though, right?” he asks, squinting at Bucky.

 

Bucky laughs, shrugging. “Eventually.”

 

“And your sister?” Steve prompts.

 

Bucky shrugs again, his smile remaining easy, but if Steve looks careful enough, it looks false.

 

“She’s back in Romania,” he says. “Tried to get her a green card after I joined the Seyrbakovs, but she wouldn’t take it.”

 

Steve nods. He thinks, if he had a sister, he’d talk to her whether she liked his job or not. Maybe he can get Bucky to work things out with his sister eventually, if his plan works out. He’s starting to doubt it, if he’s honest. He’s not honest very often.

 

“Can I ask,” Steve says, then pauses, licking his lips compulsively. “Did you actually get Seyrbakov’s sons deported or did you have them killed?”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows.

 

“They’re alive,” Bucky answers, but leaves it there. 

 

Steve nods. Bucky’s answered more than one question, the question Steve really wanted to be answered, but he can be possessive, too.

 

“Were you and Alyosha a thing?” he presses.

 

Bucky’s expression turns speculative for a moment, then he narrows his eyes at Steve. “Depends on what you mean by a thing.”

 

Steve draws his lips into a light scowl, giving Bucky a flat look. “Were you together?”

 

“For a while,” Bucky says. He tucks the tail of his belt in the loops of his slacks, then raises a hand and crooks a finger beckoningly. Steve closes the small distance between them, and Bucky grips his chin to sweep his thumb over his lip. “What’re you really asking, doll?”

 

Steve shrugs. “Nothin’,” he says dishonestly.

 

But Bucky curls his lip at a corner and presses his other hand to Steve's waist, abruptly drawing him flush to his body.

 

“Uh-huh,” he says, betraying that he doesn’t believe him one bit. “How’d you figure that out so easy? Not even Alyosha’s family knew.”

 

Steve shrugs. “Just a guess.”

 

Bucky flicks an eyebrow up, lip still curled. “Just a guess, huh?” He laughs, and again, it has little mirth to it. “Biggest secret of my life and you figure it out in two seconds,” he mutters and Steve wonders if he should have asked at all.

 

But Bucky shakes his head, then kisses Steve, pushing his tongue past Steve's lips, and Steve goes pliant in his grip. Bucky’s eyes are closed. Steve’s remain open for a moment, but flutter shut as Bucky pushes his mouth open with his tongue.

 

Bucky pulls back just after Steve closes his eyes. His lips remain parted even after Bucky pulls back, his eyes remain closed, and it’s genuine.

 

Bucky’s thumb sweeps over his lower lip and Steve opens his eyes again. “There’s no need for you to be jealous, doll,” Bucky offers, and his smile is tight. “He did try to kill me, after all.”

 

Steve gives a shrug. “That’s a fair point.”

 

Bucky gives a nod, then kisses his forehead. “What about you? Anybody I should be jealous of? ‘Cause I will be, whether I need to or not.”

 

Steve snorts. “Well, there is the entirety of New York City, it feels like sometimes.”

 

“Cute,” Bucky says, squeezing his waist with a hand. “I meant relationships. Ex-boyfriends, girlfriends.”

 

Steve shrugs. “I’ve hooked up with a few people for free, but the last serious thing was in high school, and it was only serious ‘cause I lost my virginity to him. He turned out to be a real dick.”

 

“Alright,” Bucky says, nodding. “I might kill him.”

 

Steve lets out a sharp burst of laughter at how fucked up this is and Bucky raises an eyebrow. 

 

“I ain’t jokin’, doll,” he says with mostly a scowl and partly a smirk. 

 

Steve keeps laughing. “You already killed him,” h says finally, half wheezing for breath.

 

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. Then he frowns. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” he says, clearly confused, and Steve has to laugh again.

 

“Rumlow,” Steve says. He covers his mouth, dropping his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder, and laughs. It’s completely fucked up. “He was in the class above me until I dropped out, then we met again in Fang and by then he was a real fuckwad. I don’t think anybody misses him, either.”

 

“Honestly, I killed him ‘cause he was selling coke to high schoolers,” Bucky admits musingly, “but now I feel better about it.”

 

Steve laughs again. This is so fucked up. He’d hated Rumlow and he doesn’t think anybody misses him, but if he’s being honest past that, he’s into Bucky’s nonchalance about his power and danger. Bucky has literally killed a man for no reason more than Steve had screamed, and he’s into that, even if getting there was kind of scary. Intensely terrifying. Completely fucked up. Steve's dissociated from the fucked up part already, he focuses on the thrill of belonging to Bucky.

 

Bucky’s arms lock behind Steve's back, his lips touch his hair. “All mine now,” he murmurs, and Steve shivers in his grip.

 

“Yessir,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _steve's backstory! bucky's backstory! bucky being bucky! i hope you enjoyed this and that you'll leave me a comment and[reblog chaos's art from last chapter](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179487629801/steve-realizes-that-hes-shivering-bucky-finally). ttyl_
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	10. and, oh, the lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _thank you so much for all the good reception last chapter, the boys are on their way to being mafia husbands. (c'mon, that's not a spoiler, it's obvious what's gonna happen.) i hope you enjoy this next update and that your saturday was fun and productive._

##  _and, oh, the lord_

 

This time, Bucky doesn’t summon a limo. But it is a Mercedes Benz with a partition still, and there are still two men in suits and sunglasses in the front seat. Steve takes the middle seat, then puts his feet up and his back to Bucky’s side.

 

Bucky looks down at him from the corner of his eye. “If we get hit, you’re going to break all the bones in your body.”

 

Steve takes Bucky’s arm and tugs it around his waist. “There,” he says. “Now I have a seatbelt.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes but doesn’t make him move. Steve smiles to himself and settles his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

Luke, the only one of Bucky’s suits that Steve recognizes, is the driver. Steve thinks he’s cool. He’s quite nice to look at, too. He’s got beautiful hands. Back in high school, Steve spent more time on his art homework than anything else, and he’d been planning to do a collection of hands for his senior project before he’d dropped out. Luke’s hands are just the kind he’d want to draw.

 

The drive will take a long time, and after several minutes of quiet, Steve takes out his new phone and opens Spotify. He’s already signed into his profile but pauses before he plays something. He tips his head back to look at Bucky.

 

“Can you buy me Spotify premium?”

 

“You’ve got my credit card,” Bucky says dismissively.

 

“I don’t have my wallet,” Steve says.

 

Bucky sighs, then digs his wallet out and hands it to him. Steve grins and flips it open to pluck out the first card he finds. In two minutes, he’s registered for Spotify premium. Pleased, Steve hands Bucky back his wallet, then, because he thinks it's completely appropriate, plays Nicki Minaj’s _Big Daddy._

 

Bucky looks at him from the corner of his eye by the end of the intro. Steve smiles innocently, then leans up to look over the open partition.

 

“Do you have an aux cord?” he asks of Luke.

 

Luke flicks his eyes to him in the rear mirror. “No?”

 

Steve turns to give Bucky a look. “You need aux cables in your cars.”

 

“Whatever,” Bucky sighs.

 

Steve puts his phone in a nearby cup holder and turns the volume all the way up. Bucky shakes his head, but he’s cracking a smile now. Steve twists and kisses his cheek.

 

“Thanks, Big Daddy,” he says gleefully.

 

“Oh, great,” Bucky mutters. He’s clearly trying not to smile and Steve grins evilly.

 

“Daddy,” he repeats in a coo, drawing it out to the full effect, “kiss me.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. But he raises his hand to curl in his hair and kisses him briefly and firmly. Steve grins and drops against his shoulder.

 

“Don’t call me Daddy,” Bucky says.

 

“‘Kay,” Steve agrees, then grins wider. “Daddy.”

 

“Is it too late to take you back to the pound?” Bucky asks dryly.

 

“Yep,” Steve says, gleeful again.

 

Bucky shakes his head. Steve catches Luke and the other suit in the front suit schooling their features as they try not to smile or laugh. He smirks.

 

“Brat,” Bucky mutters in his ear. Steve shivers a little, only for his proximity. Bucky’s hand falls on his thigh and pinches briefly. Steve grins and squirms a little, wondering if it would be bratty to crawl into his lap.

 

“You gonna punish me, Daddy?” Steve asks, turning his grin on him.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Gonna make you sleep on the couch, is what I’m gonna do.”

 

“Aw, but Daddy,” Steve whines. Bucky pinches his thigh again and he squirms a little more.

 

“What even is this song?” Bucky sighs.

 

“ _Big Daddy,_ ” Steve says. He looks over his shoulder at him. “Tell me you know who Nicki Minaj is.”

 

Bucky just shrugs.

 

“Rihanna?” Steve tries. Bucky shakes his head. “Drake? Kendrick Lamar? The Weekend? Lady Gaga? Halsey? Harry Styles? _Taylor Swift?_ ”

 

“I vaguely recognize a few of those names,” Bucky says.

 

Steve gapes. “Beyoncé?” he asks hopelessly.

 

“Met her once, I think,” Bucky says with a frown.

 

Steve continues to gape. “You’ve met Beyoncé!”

 

Bucky just shrugs. Steve snatches up his phone, scrolls through his music, then queues (because he has that ability now) _Partition._

 

 _Big Daddy_ hardly has ten seconds left in it. _Partition_ starts and Steve points to his phone.

 

“This Beyoncé?” he demands.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says. Then he frowns as the song carries on. “What is this?”

 

Luke slowly puts up the partition, before the first part of the song even finishes. Steve snorts. Bucky presses a hand over his eyes.

 

“You’re an old man,” Steve notes. Then he twists in his seat and crawls onto Bucky’s lap. Bucky grasps his waist and raises his eyebrows. “Daddy,” Steve adds, just to be a brat.

 

“I’m not into being called Daddy,” Bucky says with a wry twist to his lips.

 

“I know,” Steve says with a growing grin.

 

 _“Driver, roll up the partition, please,”_ comes from his phone and Bucky raises his eyebrows first at the phone, then at Steve.

 

“What is with music these days?” he mutters.

 

“You are so old,” Steve says, horrified. “This song came out five years ago!”

 

“I don’t pay attention to music,” Bucky says tiredly.

 

“What do you listen to, then?” Steve demands.

 

Bucky just shrugs. “Not much?”

 

“Not even what you had growing up?” Steve demands.

 

“We didn’t have radios,” Bucky says. Steve sits back a little. “We had a record player, and the only thing in English or with words was Elvis, and Mother Gregory fuckin’ hated Elvis so we only listened to it when she was out, which was maybe twice a year. No, I don’t listen to music.”

 

“I guess that’s a good reason,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows pointedly. Steve leans to the side and grabs his phone again. “I’ll just educate you, then.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve sticks tongue out, and before he can pull it back into his mouth Bucky’s grabbing him by the back of the neck and yanking him in for a harsh kiss. Steve melts, holding back a moan, and Bucky squeezes the back of his neck.

 

He pulls him back, and Steve’s all but forgotten about setting up the queue on Spotify with all favorite songs to educate Bucky.

 

“We’ll have to try that sometime,” Bucky says quietly.

 

Steve remembers the point of the song and swallows. Bucky smiles, predatory, and trails a hand down his back to grip and squeeze his ass.

 

“Get back on the bench,” he says, “you’ll break your neck if the car gets hit.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles, thinking about the stretch Cadillac and getting on his knees. But he slips off Bucky’s lap, then sits squarely next to him and tugs his shirt lower. Bucky’s smirk remains on his lip as he drapes an arm over his shoulder.

 

Then he remembers that he wants to teach Bucky about today’s music. He leans into him, drawing his legs onto the bench, then starts setting up his queue with all his favorite songs currently.

 

They get through most of them by the time Luke pulls up outside his apartment. Bucky seems wholly disinterested in most of it.

 

“Wait here,” Steve says, pausing in the middle of Panic! At the Disco’s _Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time._

 

“Steve –” Bucky starts, but Steve ignores him and climbs over him to get out.

 

“I’ll only be a minute,” he promises.

 

Bucky catches his wrist and Steve stops, standing just outside the car. He leans forward and, with his other hand, knocks on the partition.

 

“What?” Steve says.

 

Bucky shoots him a look that says _be patient_ as the partition lowers. “Hunter, walk with him.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes as the second of the suits pops his door and gets out. “I don’t need a bodyguard,” he says to Bucky.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t asking,” he says.

 

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but Bucky’s expression makes him pause. The suit, Hunter, cracks his neck and raises his eyebrows.

 

“Fine,” Steve says. “I’m making him carry my bag, then.”

 

Bucky just waves a hand at the bodyguard. Hunter gives no expression, and Steve bends to present his cheek. Bucky kisses it, then pats him on the hip.

 

“Hurry up,” Bucky tells him, leaning back into the confines of the car.

 

Hunter shuts the car door behind Steve. Steve walks up to his building, pushes open the door and looks around. The dingy vestibule is empty and dirtier than normal. He heads for the stairs, not touching the handrail, and Hunter trails behind him, still in sunglasses.

 

He walks up to his apartment and finds the door still hanging off its hinges, but closed, so at first glance it isn’t noticeable. He pushes open the door and it creaks loudly as it sags away from the broken hinges.

 

“I don’t suppose you can fix that,” Steve says, though he doesn’t look back.

 

“Nope,” Hunter answers. He has a British accent. Fun.

 

Steve looks around, but half his shit is missing anyway and if someone helped themselves to his apartment in the past twenty-four hours, it won’t be noticeable, either. He crosses slowly, seeing that his spiked bat remains by the TV-less TV stand, then pushes open his bedroom door and ducks inside. Hunter makes to follow, and Steve turns around.

 

“Wait out here,” he says.

 

Hunter shrugs and stands directly outside the door. Steve rolls his eyes and shuts the door in his face. Shaking his head, he goes to collect clothes.

 

He dresses in comfortable, light-wash jeans and a soft white shirt with green borders, and because now he knows that Bucky is into it, a pair of light blue lace panties. He packs a suitcase with as many clothes as he can fit into it and a duffle with anything else he needs in his bedroom or bathroom. He’ll have to come back sooner rather than later to catalog everything that was stolen, but for now, he just wants to delay doing it. He just needs to get his stuff out.

 

He stops by the nightstand and picks up his mother’s picture. He sits down on the bed to smooth it between his fingers, to brush at the dried mud lightly so it won’t scratch the photo’s surface. Maybe there’s a way to repair it, or a way to replace it. He folds it evenly, in half and then quarters, and tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans. He still hadn’t been wearing shoes, so he puts on his beat-up Chucks and checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror before leaving. He looks a little pale and he needs to shave, his hair needs washing, so he sprays it with some dry shampoo and uses his fingers to make it stick up at the front some. The rest, he leaves for now.

 

Steve grabs the suitcase and the duffle bag, then yanks open the bedroom door. Hunter raises his eyebrows from behind his sunglasses.

 

“Here,” he says, holding out the suitcase.

 

Hunter looks at it. Steve raises his eyebrows. Hunter wrinkles his nose but takes it. Steve swings his duffle bag onto his shoulder and leads him out, pausing to pull the door to and lock the handle, even though it’s busted and one light shove would take it down completely.

 

Whatever. There’s nothing left of value in it. Not even his clothes, which are mostly from thrift shops or counterfeit.

 

They take the stairs again. At the building exit, Hunter takes the duffle bag and Steve lets him. Despite having his hands full, Hunter opens the car door for him before going around to put his bags in the back.

 

Steve doesn’t bother crawling over Bucky, just drops into his lap and curls his arms around his neck. Bucky’s hands rest on his lower back, one slips low to cup his ass, and the picture in his pocket crinkles.

 

The door shuts, then the front door opens as Hunter gets in. Luke starts the car. Steve sits up and pulls the picture from his pocket as they pull back into traffic.

 

He unfolds it and Bucky reaches out to take it between his thumb and forefinger.

 

“Do you know a way to fix it?” Steve says without preamble.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answers. “These your parents?”

 

Steve nods. “I don’t have any other pictures of my dad.”

“I’ll fix it,” Bucky promises him. He takes his jaw in his other hand and draws him in for a kiss, the gentle kind. Steve doesn’t mind his gentleness as much anymore. It still makes him melt.

 

“I want food and coffee,” he says when Bucky releases him.

 

“Fine,” Bucky says. “Luke, Starbucks before the tailor.”

 

“Sure thing, boss.”

 

Steve tucks his head into Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s hand falls on his back and begins a slow, repetitive drift up and down his spine.

 

The car stops. Steve sits up, rubs at his face to make himself look a little less pale, then opens the door himself and climbs off Bucky’s lap. He turns and waits.

 

“You coming?”

 

Bucky looks like he’s considering saying no, then sighs and gets out. He straightens his jacket, brushes the wrinkles of Steve’s thighs from his slacks, then holds out his arm. Steve loops his hand through the crook of Bucky’s elbow, Bucky shuts his door and Hunter is waiting for them again.

 

“Do you bring the suits everywhere?” Steve asks as they walk up to the Starbucks. It’s three something on a Monday, so the place is empty. It also happens to be his usual Starbucks, so the baristas here know him.

 

“Yep,” Bucky says to answer him as MJ and America look up from doing nothing to greet them.

 

“Hey, Steve,” America says as a reflex, already reaching for a cup.

 

“Uh,” MJ says, looking at James Barnes.

 

Peter pops up from under a counter, presumably cleaning something. “Steve!” he cheers. “Is it five o’clock?”

 

“It’s three twenty,” Bucky answers.

 

“Dammit,” Peter mutters, and ducks back under the counter to continue cleaning. “Don’t tell Joyce I cursed!” he adds from under the counter. Bucky looks at Steve.

 

“I come in at five most days,” Steve says with a shrug. “His shift ends around then?”

 

“Uh,” MJ repeats, pointing at Bucky.

 

America glances up from writing a cup, then blinks, expression blank. She’s been practicing calligraphy or something, because it took her that long to write his name.

 

“Don’t mind him,” Steve says, pulling away from Bucky to approach the register and look through the display of sandwiches.

 

“Uh!” MJ repeats a little more insistently.

 

America leans over the counter. “I know this isn’t the greatest neighborhood, but that’s, like, IRL Scarface,” she hisses. “Are you insane?”

 

Steve glances over at Bucky, then shrugs. “He’s more like the Godfather.”

 

Bucky sticks his hands into his pockets, his expression impassive. Steve hands America a panini and a yogurt. She blinks, but scans them and hands him a spoon.

 

“He just wants a coffee,” Steve adds. “Bucky, you hungry?”

“Nah,” he says. “Ate earlier.”

 

Steve scowls at him a little. “While I was asleep?”

 

Bucky shrugs. “I was hungry, but I wasn’t gonna wake you up.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes, but both America and MJ look rather distressed still. Peter pulls his head out from behind the fridge he’s cleaning.

 

“What’s going on?” he asks, looking between America and MJ.

 

“I have a boyfriend,” Steve says, because that’s easier to explain than _I have a sir,_ “and he’s James Barnes.”

 

“Oh, cool,” Peter says. He ducks back into the fridge, stops, pulls back and frowns at Steve. “What?”

 

“What size coffee do you want?” Steve asks Bucky.

 

Bucky approaches the counter, looking at the menu. “Venti,” he says eventually.

 

America, still with the expression of mild horror, reaches for a venti cup, then turns around and goes to fill it with coffee. She pauses, turns back, and asks, numbly: “Do you need room for cream?”

 

“Little bit,” Bucky says.

 

America nods vaguely. She lids and puts a sleeve on the cup, then sets it on the counter between her register and Steve. Steve pulls out his phone and opens his Starbucks app.

 

“Lemme pay,” Bucky says then.

 

“You are paying,” Steve tells him, scanning his app when America waves him to do so. “I reloaded my account with your credit card.”

 

“Of course you did,” Bucky says. Steve looks at him, then smiles and sticks out his cheek. Bucky rolls his eyes and kisses it.

 

“Does the bodyguard want anything?” Steve then adds, looking at Hunter.

 

Hunter shrugs. “Coffee, medium. Luke wants a caramel frappuccino.”

 

America nods, ringing it up and marking a cup. MJ has yet to start on Steve’s latte.

 

“You okay?” he calls to her.

 

MJ shakes herself. “Nah,” she says, but she starts making his drink, so she’s somewhat okay.

 

Peter stands up finally. He actually gawks for a full second, until America kicks him in the shin.

 

“Is this a normal reaction?” Steve asks Bucky.

 

“I don’t usually go into Starbucks, so, no,” he answers.

 

“Is this a normal reaction for people seeing you on the street?” Steve tries again.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows, and Steve assumes that means Bucky doesn’t often just walk around amongst the plebs in order to garner this sort of reaction.

 

MJ hesitantly puts his latte down in front of him. She raises her eyebrows at him, then slinks off to go make the frappuccino. Steve takes it and sips, smiling happily at the bitter taste of espresso.

 

“There’s cream and sugar at the end of the bar,” America says to Bucky, pointing helpfully.

 

Bucky flicks his eyebrows up, and that’s all he does to thank her, then takes coffee down to the condiment bar. Steve follows him, sipping his coffee. Hunter takes the coffee America hands him, then follows, too.

 

MJ puts the caramel frappuccino down at the end of the bar, pushing it towards their bodyguard, who takes it silently and waits while Bucky puts half and half and sugar in his coffee.

 

“I thought you’d like it black,” Steve remarks.

 

Bucky just shrugs. He adds yet another packet of sugar, stirring with a thin wooden stick, then puts the lid back on and takes a testing sip. He nods, then waves to Hunter, who turns and opens the door for them.

 

“Bye!” Steve calls out to the baristas as they leave.

 

America waves. MJ looks like she’s debating calling the cops; little good it would do. The NYPD works for Seyrbakov Corporations. Peter is still gawking.

 

Hunter opens the car door, as well. Steve gets in first, followed by Bucky and Hunter shuts it again. When he gets in the passenger seat, he holds out the frappuccino to Luke.

 

“Oh, cool,” Luke says. Then glances in the rear view mirror, and simply takes the drink. Steve puts his head on Bucky’s shoulder for a second, then puts his latte in a cupholder and opens his panini.

 

He starts the music again just as Luke pulls into traffic. Bucky watches him eat, an arm around his shoulders, and Steve tries to ignore him. It’s a bit awkward. It’s easier once he’s eating the yogurt, at least.

 

The tailor isn’t far from the Starbucks, however. He’s just finished his yogurt when Luke pulls up to the curb and parks.

 

Hunter opens the door, Bucky unfolds himself from the car and holds out his hand, looking at the street around him. Steve stops the music, tucks his phone into his pocket, then takes his hand and slips out of the car. Luke gets out of the car this time, and he and Hunter stand squarely side by side, like two foot-soldiers in a phalanx.

 

Bucky mounts the steps of a humble-looking two-story shop, opening the door and making a bell jangle. He walks in first, pulling Steve along behind him, and the foot soldiers trail after them.

 

“Yankov!” Bucky calls out. “Kak proiskhodit biznes?”

 

A loud grunting sound comes from the back of the shop, then the sound of several soft things falling to the ground. Bucky winces as a man’s voice starts yelling in Russian.

 

“Go help him,” Bucky snaps at his bodyguards. They hasten to follow his order.

 

Steve takes the time to look around as Yankov continues to yell in Russian and, presumably from the sounds, Hunter and Luke begin moving heavy objects. The tailor’s shop is old fashioned, certainly, there are smoking couches and mannequins and cabinets full of bolts of fabric. The front desk has a heavy log book open next to a vintage register, hand crank and all. The lights are just as vintage and cast a warm, golden hue over the room.

 

Bucky takes a seat on one of the red velvet sofas. Steve, after another moment looking around, sits next to him. He pushes his elbow into Bucky’s waist and Bucky lifts an arm to drape over his shoulders.

 

There’s another loud crash from the back, another explosion of angry Russian. Bucky exhales forcefully. Steve turns to him with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Is this normal?”

 

“Ehh,” Bucky answers vaguely.

 

Hunter is pushed through a set of heavy draperies, angry Russian following him. He huffs and stalks off to stand in a corner of the room.

 

“What did you do?” Steve asks, confused.

 

“Neuklyuzhiy!” presumably Yankov shouts. “Pereryv tkani! Kak vy narushayete tkan? Neuklyuzhiy!”

 

Hunter shrugs hopelessly. Bucky slowly covers his eyes with a hand.

 

“Ar fi trebuit să-l aduc pe Natasha,” he mutters softly.

 

Steve looks up at him. “That wasn’t Russian?”

 

He just shakes his head. “Yankov!” he yells. “Vy prikhodish?”

 

“Tihko!” comes from the back.

 

Steve, annoyed that he took Spanish in High School and not Russian, tugs out his phone and brings up Google Translate. Hunter, on the other side of the room, frowns slightly.

 

“Ya plachu tebe za rabotu!” Bucky calls back. Steve hastily presses _speech to text_ and holds his phone closer to Bucky as he adds: “Perestan' krichat'! Prinimaytes' za rabotu!”

 

Google thinks a minute, then provides a translation: _Stop screaming. Get to work._

 

Steve prods Bucky in the stomach to make him confirm the translation. He waves a frustrated hand, still aiming a glare at the drapery. “Yankov!”

 

“Terpeniye, mal'chik!” Yankov answers, but the drapes part and Luke walks out with an armful of fabric. A very short, stooped old man follows behind him, Steve assumes this is Yankov. Surprisingly, so does a young woman.

 

“Him?” Yankov says shortly, pointing at Steve. “Up!”

 

Steve glances at Bucky, who waves his hand again. Steve stands up, and Yankov takes him by both forearms to tug him forward. Steve leans away from his foul breath, trying not to wrinkle his nose, as Yankov hums and taps his wiry chin. Steve is taller than him with his bowed back, and that’s saying something, because _Steve_ has a bowed back.

 

“Wanda, stool,” Yankov snaps.

 

The girl, Wanda, grabs a velvet-covered and fringed round stool and drags it into the center of the room. She offers a hand to Steve, who takes a second to comprehend that he’s being told to get on it. He glances hesitantly at Bucky, who only waves his hand for them go on.

 

Steve steps onto the stool, only taking Wanda’s hand to not be rude, then stands in its center, a few inches off the ground. Yankov circles him once, then clucks his tongue and picks at the leg of his jeans.

 

“What is this?” he tuts, yanking on his jeans. “Meshkovatyy.”

 

Steve tugs his knee away from him, affronted though he doesn’t know what Yankov just said.

 

“Ne sudite yego odezhde,” Bucky says. “Yemu nuzhen kostyum.”

 

“Can we speak English?” Steve asks, feeling very uncomfortable. He doesn’t like being spoken of as if he isn’t there and listening.

 

Yankov scoffs. Bucky rubs at his temple with a sigh. Wanda flashes him a tight and apologetic smile. Steve huffs his bangs out of his eyes and curls his lips downward.

 

Yankov flitters a moment longer. He pokes at his knees and scoffs at the rolled up hem of his jeans that exposes his ankles, grabs his hands and examines his arms, and tuts loudly through the whole ordeal. Steve keeps looking at Bucky, expecting him to interrupt and tell him off, but he only scowls, occasionally breaking into Yankov’s fast-paced Russian with a short comment or two. He sits with his ankle propped up on his knee, an elbow on the arm of the couch to press his index to his temple, his lip curled downward in either frustration or distaste, but either way, it is not the defense that Steve is looking for.

 

“Chto vy yego kormite?” Yankov says, finally turning away from Steve to snap at Bucky. “Kozha i kost! On slishkom khudoy!”

 

Wanda winces. Steve turns to Bucky, indignant with ignorance, but Bucky doesn’t move to defend him, just scowls a long while. Yankov crosses his arms over his chest, glaring sullenly.

 

“Yemu nuzhen kostyum,” Bucky repeats darkly. “Prosto sdelay eto.”

 

“If you’re going to talk about me like I’m not here,” Steve announces, and Bucky’s irritated gaze flicks to him, “could you at least do it in English?”

 

Bucky’s expression still does not change. Steve gives him a displeased pout.

 

“Impertinent,” Yankov snaps, and it takes Steve a second to recognize it as English after the outpouring of Russian. “Teach manners.”

 

“Hey!” he protests loudly.

 

“Yankov,” Bucky snaps, rubbing at his temple again like he’s got a headache, “don’t make me find a new tailor.”

 

Yankov draws himself up. “Huh,” he says, half a scoff and just as indignant as Steve. It is not any more endearing than his tutting. He simply turns around and snaps his fingers at Wanda. “Lenta.”

 

Wanda produces a measuring tape and hands it to him. Yankov draws it out, snaps it taut, then begins to measure Steve’s arms.

 

He takes more measurements than Steve would assume necessary. He’s standing on the stool for nearly half an hour, while Yankov measures every part of his body from the length of his fingers to the circumference of his knee.

 

Finally, Yankov shoves the tape measure back to Wanda. She takes it and begins to painstakingly roll it back up, while Yankov flitters away to a cabinet of drawers and begins digging around in it.

 

He comes back with a simple pair of slacks, a shirt, a waistcoat, and a jacket. These, he drops into Steve’s arms.

 

“Change,” he says, pointing to a room divider behind the smoking couches.

 

Steve looks at them, sees the marks of pins and the simple weave of cotton, then at Bucky. He nods, perhaps attempting to be encouraging, but it’s put off by the fact that he still looks annoyed.

 

Steve steps off the stool, gives him a look that says _fuck you_ and moves behind the partition. He changes, the slacks scratchy and the shirt stuffy, balls up his jeans and t-shirt, then steps out from behind the divider. He walks up to the smoking couch behind Bucky and drops his wad of clothes into his lap. He starts, then looks up at Steve with a single raised eyebrow and no other show of emotion on his face. Steve raises both of his, sticks his nose in the air and steps back on the stool, back to him.

 

Yankov has a mouth full of pins, and begins to poke and prod at the clothes Steve’s wearing yet again. He sets pins, moves them, sets them again and steps back to tut. Then he does it again. He flutters for a full fifteen or twenty minutes before he finally drops the remaining pins into a tin and steps back to eye Steve critically.

 

“Da ili net?” Yankov says. He looks at Wanda, for the first time since they’d walked in.

 

Wanda tilts her head to the side. She steps forward, then adjusts a few pins. “Da,” she says. Yankov hums, though his expression is still pinched, then nods. He raises a hand and swirls a finger. Steve turns around, meeting Bucky’s gaze.

 

It startles the scowl off his lips. Bucky’s gaze is intense. The lights are on his back, casting his face into shadow. It accentuates the curve of his jaw and crest of his cheekbone and sets a gentle ring of glowing silver in his dark hair that melds into the gray of his temples. His gaze, dark in nature and physicality, reminds Steve of the wolf again; crouching in the underbrush, preparing to launch and snare its teeth into the throat of its prey. A slow and cold shiver, like a single bead of water or a rough fingertip, rolls down Steve’s spine.

 

“Da?” Yankov repeats, walking around to look at Bucky.

 

Bucky tilts his head. He lifts his finger off his temple and curls it towards him. His eyes say _come_ and Steve steps off the stool.

 

Bucky drops his ankle off his knee and Steve stops between his legs. Bucky looks him up and down, then raises a palm to press to his waist. He says something in Russian, and abruptly Yankov laughs. Steve glances at him, then at Bucky, then back at Yankov as he says something else and raises his hands. He makes the figure of an hourglass with his palms and laughs again. Steve drops his focus back to Bucky, who raises his other palm to cup both sides of his waist. His predatory gaze travels up and down his body.

 

“Da,” he says quietly. The shiver rolls down Steve’s spine again.

 

“Stool,” Yankov says, and Bucky squeezes his waist once before releasing him.

 

Steve steps back, though reluctant now, and steps back onto the stool. Yankov says something to Wanda, who nears again and begins adjusting the pins. She makes the shoulders of the jacket sharper, and the waist of all three pieces – the shirt, the waistcoat, the jacket – smaller. His figure is not the hourglass Yankov pantomimed, but he has some of a _V_ to his waist and hips thanks to his designation, and as Wanda adjusts the pins, she brings the mock suit to reflect it. Steve is facing Bucky this time, and he’s watching her move the pins with his wolf’s eyes.

 

“Da!” Yankov announces as Wanda sets the final pin. “Ochen khoroshaya rabota, prekrasnyy. Yakov?”

 

“Da,” Bucky agrees. Steve meets his gaze levelly and parts his lips to sweep his tongue over his upper lip, before drawing it back in behind his teeth and leaving his mouth slightly open. Bucky’s expression does not change. His eyes darken.

 

Yankov moves around and studies him for a long moment. Steve does not look away from Bucky, wondering if the quickening of his pulse is visible in the collar of his shirt.

 

“Tkani? Tsveta? Kak vy dumayete?” Yankov says.

 

Steve gives up on trying to follow the conversation. Bucky answers, they go back and forth, Wanda stepping in here and there to point to places on his body; his cheekbones, his hair, his lips or hands. Yankov hums often, taps his wiry chin, and Bucky frequently drops his gaze to the pull of the waistcoat or trousers over Steve’s body.

 

Bucky snaps his fingers, cutting Yankov off mid-sentence. Yankov shuts his mouth with a snap, and Bucky’s gaze flicks to Steve’s face.

 

“You plannin’ on wearing lipstick Friday night?” he asks.

 

Steve considers it. Yankov looks startled. Wanda’s lips twist in a smile.

 

“Yes,” Steve answers after a moment’s thought.

 

“The red?” Bucky goes on.

 

“Probably,” Steve says, and Bucky’s lip curls at a corner.

 

“Velvet,” he says, and this time to Yankov. “To go with dark red.”

 

“Matte or gloss?” Wanda says, the first thing she’s said in English.

 

“Matte,” Steve answers, and she nods, smiling. She says something to Yankov, who appears ruffled. He replies shortly, and she shrugs, waving a dismissive hand. This makes him scowl, but one glance at Bucky has him schooling his look of distaste. Bucky has a pleased smirk curling his lip.

 

Yankov and Wanda speak a while longer, the both of them occasionally moving to tweak a pin or pull on a bit of fabric, and the entire time Bucky is silent. His gaze roams over Steve’s body, often passing his lips, as though remembering the matte color like oxygenated blood.

 

Then Yankov claps his hands loudly. “Done!” he says to Steve. “Change! Care with pins!”

 

“Do you need help?” Wanda offers.

 

He shakes his head, stepping off the stool. He stops in front of Bucky and holds out his hand for his clothes. Bucky holds them out, then grasps his hip with a warm palm and squeezes once. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, but he takes the clothes and moves away, despite wanting to drape himself over Bucky’s lap and let his warm palms wander their fill. It seems Bucky is of similar thoughts, because his palm trails after Steve as he walks past.

 

He steps behind the partition once more. He heeds Yankov’s warning and takes care in removing the clothes so he doesn’t disturb the pins, then dresses once more in his comfortable jeans and simple cotton shirt. He takes the time to tuck in the hem, so the slimness of his waist is put on display by the high-rise of the jeans.

 

As he expected him to do, Bucky slides a palm around his waist as he approaches the couch. Steve perches himself on the arm of the couch, and Bucky’s palm rests possessively on the curve of his waist while he and Yankov converse in Russian. After a while, Steve yawns and drapes his arm over Bucky’s shoulders before leaning on him. Bucky’s palm slips to rest on his hip, yet they continue speaking.

 

Finally, Yankov claps his hands then sticks one out. It’s his right, so Bucky has to take his hand off Steve’s hip to shake it. They shake once, and Yankov flutters away to the vintage register. Then, similarly to how T’Challa brushed off his palms past shaking hands, Bucky flicks his fingers once before returning his palm to Steve’s hip.

 

Wanda steps up to him, holding a leather-bound book.

 

“In English,” she says, smiling, then shows him the page she’s got it open to. It’s a sketchbook, clearly for the purpose of designing clothes, because one page is filled with notes and a figure and the other is blank, only a figure. Steve lifts off Bucky’s shoulder to peer at it; the page she’s pointing to has a male figure, the suit he’d been fitted in drawn on it, only now inked with smooth lines and colors. The suit itself is a deep red, so much that it looks black, the shirt a pale silver almost white, the waistcoat and tie a slightly brighter wine red with brocade. A silver pocket square and solid black wingtips complete the look.

 

“Here, we plan silk,” Wanda starts, pointing to the shirt and then to the waistcoat. “The jacket and slacks velvet. You have earrings? I recommend diamonds, platinum or white gold, silver.”

 

Steve blinks. He has no diamonds, no platinum, and the closest he has to white gold or silver is titanium. He looks down at Bucky, still talking to Yankov, though, then back at the sketchbook and thinks Bucky will buy him diamonds if he asks.

 

He’ll ask later.

 

“Do you wear makeup often?” Wanda asks.

 

Steve laughs. She blinks, and he gives her a polite smile. “Frequently,” he says simply, with no need to bring up his profession.

 

Wanda just nods. “Try a cut crease, matte colors, maybe some glitter wings? Or go for neutral tones if you want the matte lipstick to pop more.”

 

Steve nods, thinking. He’ll have Darcy do it.

 

“And try a bit of a pomade look in your hair,” she goes on, reaching up to touch the upsweep he’s tried to corral his hair into.

 

Bucky stops talking abruptly and jerks his gaze to her. Wanda snatches her hand away from Steve’s hair, taking a step back as if for good measure. Steve tries not to smile but doesn’t resist the pleased humming purr that goes down his spine.

 

“Don’t mind him,” Steve says, though. Bucky’s fingers tighten on his hip. “You were saying?”

 

“Uh,” Wanda mumbles. She shakes herself. “Yes. Pomade. Uh, not quite a pompadour, something a bit more subtle.”

 

“I usually just spike it up,” Steve says, “but that’s a good idea. Classier.”

 

He nods a little. Bucky is still looking at Wanda with warning in his eyes. Steve relaxes against his shoulder, pleased as Punch but maintaining casual interest in what Wanda is telling him, yet Bucky’s grip on his hip only tightens. He’ll leave bruises if he doesn’t let up soon. Steve hopes he holds on for minutes.

 

“Yakov, Yakov, prekratit pugat yeye,” Yankov snaps, and Bucky flicks his gaze away. Wanda visibly releases tension.

 

“What about nails?” Steve questions. He raises a hand, looking at his manicure that could use a touch-up, then holds out his hand to Wanda. “Yes, no, simple, dramatic?”

 

“Simple,” she says, but she doesn’t take his hand. Bucky’s fingers are still tight on his hip, and as Steve stretches out his hand farther to her, they tighten. Externally, Steve is invested in the conversation he’s having, internally, he’s working through body language cues and steadily getting pleased. Wanda hesitantly takes his hand, her expression going thoughtful, and Bucky’s fingers dig into his hip. Yankov snaps _Yakov,_ which Steve is figuring out means Bucky in some way, but Bucky does not answer him. He’s looking out of the corner of his eye, eyes that have gone icy with a pissed, possessive edge.

 

“Nude colors,” Wanda adds, and she releases his hand. Bucky’s grip loosens somewhat and Steve has to fight not to pout in reflex. He draws his hand back and looks at his nails, pursing his lips as though deep in thought.

 

“Just a simple color coat?” he says. “I’ve done some pretty extravagant things with my nails before.”

 

“Just the color,” Wanda affirms. “You’ll want to let the suit be the statement piece.”

 

He nods, leaning back against Bucky’s shoulder. “I get that. I think I’ll go nude colors for eyeshadow, too. Maybe a little bit of a cut crease.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll be very handsome either way,” Wanda says, and Steve, looking at his nails still, curls his lip at the corners a little. Every eye in the place will be on him, but he, like a good little whore, will only be thinking about Bucky. About his sir. He’s grateful for his perch on the arm of the sofa, because his crossed legs mean his slight reaction to thinking about it isn’t noticeable.

 

Bucky’s grip on his hip is still tight. It almost hurts. There will be faint bruises under his fingertips by now. Steve is pleased.

 

“Finish!” Yankov announces loudly, catching Steve’s attention away from Wanda and Bucky’s fingers digging into his hip. “We start, go, go, go!”

 

He waves to the door, then starts a slow shuffle towards the back of the shop. Wanda gives Steve a nod and vanishes through the drapery. Luke looks the piles of fabric he’d carried out of the back, then shakes his head and goes for the door.

 

After Yankov vanishes through the drapes, Bucky’s grip on Steve’s hip turns into a yank. Steve tumbles off the arm of the sofa but falls directly into Bucky’s lap as Bucky's arms close around him. He hardly has the time to react, because Bucky is kissing him and all he can do is sigh happily into the lips devouring his and press into it.

 

Bucky pulls back, then lifts him by the waist and sets him on his feet. Steve sways a little while he stands, until Bucky wraps a firm arm around his torso and tugs him into his side.

 

“Come on,” he snaps to Hunter and Luke.

 

“Dinner?” Steve says, remembering Bucky’s agenda from earlier.

 

“Yep,” Bucky says. Hunter goes out first, then stops to hold the door open for them. “Thinking Italian, Luigi's,” he says, to Luke, who nods. Bucky glances down at Steve, then. “You got somethin’ nice in your bag?”

 

“Sure,” Steve says, already thinking of a plan. The windows of the Benz are tinted, the backseat spacious. He is wearing lace panties.

 

“Good. We’ll stop at my place so you can change.”

 

Steve tugs away from him to head for the trunk. “No need. Just have Luke put the partition up.”

 

Bucky stops on the sidewalk, expression neutral. Steve gives him a smile and opens the trunk, then his suitcase and digs around for a minute. He debates between black or blue slacks, chooses the black, works out a dark green button-up that’s just opaque enough to be classy and sheer enough to be alluring and a pair of white dress shoes. He pulls out a belt and a pair of flat white earrings, having no white gold or diamonds, from his duffle bag and drops them into a shoe so he won’t lose them before slamming the trunk.

 

Bucky is still standing on the sidewalk, hands fisted at his sides and expression neutral. Steve gives him a light smile, faint curl to his lips with lidded eyes, then gets into the car as Hunter is holding open the door.

 

He settles in the middle, putting down his folded clothes. Bucky slides in beside him, and Hunter shuts the door.

 

“Partition,” Bucky says shortly to Luke when he turns the engine.

 

Steve’s lips curl farther upward as Luke puts up the partition. As the car pulls into traffic, Steve lifts his shirt over his head.

 

He can feel Bucky’s gaze on him. Steve pops the button of his jeans, then intentionally stops to take off his shoes. He shakes the earrings out of his dress shoe, puts them in, and pauses to look at Bucky. He’s leaning against the window, watching. Steve gives him a smile, then shimmies off the bench a little to lean back and work down the zipper of his jeans. He catches Bucky’s gaze dropping, then grins as his pupils dilate.

 

Steve, now naked but for the light blue panties, shucks the jeans, then diligently buttons and zips them, folds them, and sets them aside. Bucky’s hand catches his waist, then Steve is being tugged back until he’s flush against Bucky’s chest. Bucky even lifts him up and curls a knee onto the bench, to plant his ass on his lap. Steve drops his head against Bucky’s shoulder, baring his throat, and is rewarded by his lips attacking his neck.

 

“Did I do something, sir?” Steve asks, acting innocent.

 

One of Bucky’s palms cups the front of his panties. Steve grins, eyes fluttering shut, and presses into his hand.

 

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” Bucky growls into his neck. He keeps his voice down; through the partition, there’s the barely audible sound of the radio playing despite the heavy thrumming of the bass and Steve is positive that it and the windows are bulletproof let alone barriers against noise. Bucky kisses his way up and bites on the cartilage of his ear. “What the fuck, Steve?”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve answers. He rolls his hips against Bucky’s palm.

 

“I ain’t buyin’ your innocent act,” Bucky growls again. His palm presses firmly and Steve sighs. “You did this on purpose. Fuck. Why you been wearin’ briefs if you had these this whole time?”

 

“I didn’t know you liked them, sir,” Steve says. “I just grabbed a pair of underwear. No idea you’d like me in lace, sir.”

 

“Liar,” Bucky murmurs. Steve grins more. “You got plenty of these? I want you wearin’ panties all the fuckin’ time, Stevie.”

 

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have more,” Steve says. “You wanna buy me panties, Daddy?”

 

Bucky huffs, then bites a little too hard on his ear and Steve winces despite his grin. “Quit bein’ a brat, doll.”

 

“Dunno what you mean, Daddy,” Steve says brattily.

 

Bucky’s other palm comes to rest on his bare stomach, then his fingers gather skin and pinch. Steve shivers, presses his ass into Bucky’s hardening cock under him.

 

“Harder, Daddy,” he breathes out.

 

“Dammit, Steve,” Bucky sighs and it’s frustrated again. Steve’s enjoying this too much. “You’re practically beggin’ me to bend you over my knee.”

 

“Practically?” Steve snorts, then bends his head farther back, as far back as it will go. Bucky mouths at the knot of his throat and he swallows so he’ll feel it. “How much more obvious do I have to get?”

 

Bucky huffs into his throat, then smacks him just on the rough side of too hard to be light and too gentle to actually hurt. “Get dressed,” he says, lifting him off his lap.

 

Steve moves onto his knees on the bench, however, and hooks his fingers into Bucky’s collar. “How far is the restaurant?”

 

“Twenty minutes,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve parts his lips, then sweeps his tongue across them. “Getting dressed will only take a minute,” he says.

 

Bucky’s gaze is dark despite the scowl on his lips. “As opposed to?” he asks in a neutral tone.

 

“The fifteen minutes it’ll take for you to come in my mouth,” Steve says.

 

Bucky raises a hand and brushes at his hair, then drops it to his belt. Steve licks his lips once more.

 

“You got ten minutes,” Bucky tells him and then releases his belt buckle. “You make a sound while doin’ it, you don’t get to keep going.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _thank you very much for reading this and i hope you'll leave me a comment or reblog chaos's art from either[chapter one](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179382932886/barnes-leaves-his-hand-where-its-barely-touching) or [chapter eight](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179487629801/steve-realizes-that-hes-shivering-bucky-finally). i'll see you in the chapter eleven, **money made monet**._
> 
> _those of you who know Russian might recognize that Yakov actually means Jacob, not James, but all fics i've seen that give Bucky a name in Russian have used Yakov instead of Dzheyms, which is closer to James. i went for consistency so whatevs._
> 
>  
> 
> _Translations from Russian to English provided by Google Translate. Listed in order of appearance._
> 
>  
> 
> **Kak proiskhodit biznes?/Как происходит бизнес?** = _How is business going?_  
>  **Neuklyuzhiy!/Неуклюжий!** = _Clumsy!_  
>  **Pereryv tkani! Kak vy narushayete tkan? Neuklyuzhiy!/Перерыв ткани! Как вы нарушаете ткань? Неуклюжий!** = _Break the cloth! How do you break the fabric? Clumsy!_  
>  (Romanian) **Ar fi trebuit să-l aduc pe Natasha.** = _I should have brought Natasha._  
>  **Vy prikhodish?/Вы приходишь?** = _Are you coming?_  
>  **Tikho!/Тихо!** = _Quiet!_  
>  **Ya plachu tebe za rabotu!/Я плачу тебе за работу!** = _I pay you for work!_  
>  **Perestan' krichat'! Prinimaytes' za rabotu!/Перестань кричать! Принимайтесь за работу!** = _Stop screaming! Get to work!_  
>  **Terpeniye, mal'chik!/Терпение, мальчик!** = _Patience, boy!_  
>  **Meshkovatyy./Мешковатый.** = _Baggy._  
>  **Ne sudite yego odezhde/Не судите его одежде** = _Do not judge his clothes_  
>  **Yemu nuzhen kostyum/Ему нужен костюм** = _He needs a suit_  
>  **Chto vy yego kormite?/Что вы его кормите?** = _What do you feed him?_  
>  **Kozha i kost! On slishkom khudoy!/Кожа и кость! Он слишком худой!** = _Skin and bone! He is too thin!_  
>  (repeated) **Yemu nuzhen kostyum/Ему нужен костюм** = _He needs a suit_  
>  **Prosto sdelay eto/Просто сделай это** = _Just do it_  
>  **Lenta/Лента** = _Tape_  
>  **Da ili net?/Да или нет?** = _Yes or no?_  
>  **Da/Да** = _Yes_  
>  **Ochen khoroshaya rabota, prekrasnyy. Yakov?/Очень хорошая работа, прекрасный. Яков?** = _Very good work, beautiful. James?_  
>  **Tkani? Tsveta? Kak vy dumayete?/Ткани? Цвета? Как вы думаете?** = _Fabrics? Colors? What do you think?_  
>  **Yakov, Yakov, prekratit pugat yeye/Яков, Яков, прекратить пугать ее** = _Jacob, Jacob, stop scaring her_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	11. money made monet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i'm sorry this is late, i'm currently traveling. today is also my birthday, whoo! for your enjoyment, i have a selection of spanking and breathplay, tempered with degradation and possession. please enjoy._

##  _money made monet_

 

The drive from Yankov’s tailor shop to Louigi’s takes a little more than twenty minutes. Blowing Bucky in the back seat takes thirteen, and even though Steve went over the ten-minute limit his sir gave him, Bucky doesn’t seem to mind.

 

When he’s done, Steve back sits on his heels with his knees open and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Bucky’s eyes are locked on him as he does, and Steve takes care to lick up what he’d wiped off so he doesn’t waste a drop.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky says softly. Steve shuffles forward on his knees so Bucky can grab him by the jaw and tug him in for a fast but harsh kiss. Steve feels almost like he’s high, naked but for lace panties in the back  seat of James Barnes’s Mercedes Benz. As Bucky’s fingers dig into his jaw and then his waist, he thinks he understands why Jessica Jones has had bloodshot eyes for the whole six years he’s known her.

 

Bucky releases his jaw, but Steve stays leaning on his chest to catch his breath. Then Bucky drags a palm up his back and Steve shuts his eyes, shivering.

 

“Get dressed,” Bucky says.

 

Steve nods faintly. He doesn’t want to, but he takes the fresh clothes he’d taken from the trunk and pulls them on, careful so he doesn’t wrinkle them. Still, he does it slower than he needs to, sits kneeling on the bench to slowly button up his shirt up to the throat and slid his belt through the loops of his slacks. Bucky watches him the whole time, and it takes all Steve has not to just take it all off again. Finally, he meets Bucky’s gaze to zip up the slacks, hiding the light blue lace under them for the time being.

 

Just for the time being. Steve knows that as soon as dinner is through, Bucky will take him back to his penthouse and make him strip again. His slacks are painfully tight thanks to Bucky’s possessive hands and attitude and thinking about later, and the restaurant can’t be far off now.

 

“I need your help, sir,” Steve says. He slips nearer to Bucky, who takes him by the waist. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

 

“Don’t think you need to quit that,” Bucky answers.

 

“I’m hard, sir,” Steve whispers. “You don’t want me goin’ in that restaurant with a tent in my pants, do you, sir?”

 

Bucky tightens his jaw. Steve presses their foreheads together, parts his lips and doesn’t kiss him.

 

“Need your help, sir,” he mumbles again.

 

“On your back,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve pulls back and shifts around to sit on his ass. Then he lies back on the bench, putting his head on Bucky’s thigh. Bucky sets a hand on his chest and slides it down over his stomach, pausing to finger at the simple piercing in Steve’s navel through his shirt.

 

“Not helping,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky runs his hand back up, touches his throat and half cups it for a second before lifting his hand to brush at his cheek. Then he pushes his fingers through Steve’s bangs and starts combing through his hair.

 

“Shh,” Bucky murmurs softly.

 

His hands switch, his right hand now stroking Steve’s hair and his left coming down to brush his knuckles over Steve’s cheek. At the tip of a finger passing the corner of his mouth, Steve half turns his head and parts his lips.

 

“Is that what you need?” Bucky asks. “You need something in your mouth, sweet thing?”

 

Steve opens his mouth. Bucky slips two fingers inside and Steve closes his lips over them, lax, and sucks lightly on them.

 

“There, now,” Bucky says. Then he bends and kisses Steve’s forehead, very gentle when normally his kisses are bruising. “Deep breaths, baby.”

 

Steve pushes at Bucky’s fingers with his tongue until he pulls them out and inhales through his mouth. Bucky continues to stroke his hair and Steve remembers that it needs washing again, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind.

 

“Let’s talk about what you’re gonna do now you live with me,” Bucky says. “I gotta be in the office during the week, don’t think I want you home alone all the time. You wanna go back to school?”

 

Steve hadn’t thought about that. “Maybe,” he says.

 

“What was your favorite subject in high school?”

 

“Art,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky kisses his forehead again. “I’ll get you art stuff, then. It’s the middle of the semester right now, so you got time before you gotta decide.”

 

“Need a GED anyway,” Steve says quietly.

 

“I’ll get you a tutor,” Bucky offers. “So you ain’t overwhelmed.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve mutters. Bucky kisses his forehead a third time.

 

“What kinda art? Painting, drawing, what?”

 

“Bit of everything,” Steve says. “Not sculpting. Never did that.”

 

“You can try it out if you want.”

 

Steve shrugs. He feels sleepy now, with Bucky’s soft voice and his hand brushing through his hair. So he sits up a little, leaning against Bucky’s side instead of his thigh, and Bucky keeps petting his hair.

 

“I got an idea,” Bucky says. “I gotta go to the office tomorrow, so you go and buy yourself all the art stuff you could possibly want.”

 

Steve raises his eyebrows. “I haven’t drawn anything in years,” he says dumbly.

 

“No time like the present,” Bucky offers. “Take a friend with you, hell, go clean out Fifth Avenue while you’re out.”

 

He and Darcy hadn’t had a day out just to hang out in a while. She’d be delighted to know he was getting back into art.

 

“That would be fun,” Steve says.

 

“And you’re taking Luke with you,” Bucky adds. Steve snorts. “I trust him, doll, and you know him so he doesn’t bug you, right?”

 

“Luke’s cool,” Steve agrees. Bucky kisses the top of his head. “Where did you go to school?”

 

“Didn’t,” Bucky answers. “Let’s talk about you, ‘kay?”

 

Steve huffs, but he lets it go. There will be plenty of time to learn every nook and cranny of Bucky’s past and present with their future. He was curious by nature, but patient as well. This is a waiting game still; he’s been pinned, but the wolf’s teeth have yet to sink into his throat.

 

Metaphorically. Even though Steve is determined to see himself staying where he belongs under James Barnes’ shadow for the rest of his life, he’s not reckless enough to consider ever asking Bucky to bond him. Bonds are meant to be permanent, and reversing them is almost as physically painful as it is emotionally. That’s one thing he isn’t willing to risk to entice a wolf.

 

“How about goin’ to an art school?” Bucky suggests. “You could go to Julliard, doll.”

 

Steve scoffs. “I’m not good enough to go to Julliard, Buck.”

 

“Says you,” Bucky counters, “maybe you’re secretly the new Monet.”

 

Steve scoffs again, for Bucky to flick his ear and make him snort, half tickled by it. “You could be that good, Stevie.”

 

“Nobody’s that good,” Steve says. “Not even Monet. It’s luck that makes somebody a master.”

 

“Damn,” Bucky laughs, “that’s some deep shit there.”

 

“Or it’s money,” Steve mumbles.

 

“I got that,” Bucky says. “Money’ll make you the next Monet.”

 

Steve smiles a little, thinking that he’ll try if it would make Bucky happy, but he’s nowhere near the skill of Monet. He’s good, he knows, but not even money and luck could make him a master.

 

“Sit up,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve swings his legs off the bench and sits up straight, fixing his posture as best he can with the light but unnatural crook to his spine.

 

He looks out the window, seeing that the car has slowed because Luke is pulling up to Luigi's. Steve’s seen the restaurant before, but never gone in.

 

Bucky runs a hand down his side. “Better?” he asks.

 

Steve nods a little. His blood is still hot thrumming through his veins, but he doesn’t look it anymore. Hunter gets out of the car and opens their door as a valet walks up.

 

Bucky gets out of the car, smooths out his jacket, then turns back and holds out a hand to Steve. Steve can see the valet’s confused expression as he takes Bucky’s hand; James Barnes’s reputation of being unattached, a manicured hand reaching out from the darkness of the Benz, but not a woman’s stiletto following it. He straightens up and Bucky tucks his hand into the crook of his elbow as Hunter shuts the door and Luke hands the keys to the valet.

 

Bucky doesn’t look around as they enter the restaurant. A maitre de looks up as they enter then bows to them.

 

“Mr. Barnes,” she says, “your usual table?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky answers shortly. Hunter and Luke stand just behind them as the maitre de bows again and disappears into the restaurant. Steve looks around, though Bucky stares with a bored expression at nothing. He can see crystal chandeliers and silver candelabras on every table, guests wearing clothes that look like they cost more than the car Steve borrows from Brass Fang.

 

The maitre de returns with another waiter, this one an older man with the air of patience and butler-like servitude that makes Steve assume he’s the head waiter.

 

“Mr. Barnes,” he greets, “if you would follow me.”

 

Bucky doesn’t greet him in return, simply starts walking. Steve has to lengthen his stride to keep up next to him. They are lead past the main dining room, where heads turn as they pass. Steve mimics Bucky’s bored-neutral expression and stares straight ahead. The head waiter leads them to a second dining room, where the center is filled with tables and the edges are given curtained off booths.

 

The head waiter stops at a corner booth and draws back the curtain before bowing yet again. Bucky takes Steve’s hand from his arm and leads him into slipping into the booth, then joins him. The waiter ties off the curtain as Luke and Hunter stand flanking the booth.

 

“My name is Pierre,” the waiter says to Steve, laying down menus that Steve hadn’t even seen him pick up, then looks to Bucky. “Shall I start you with a bottle of wine?”

 

“White or red, Steve?” Bucky asks, looking at the menu.

 

“White,” Steve says.

 

Pierre bows. “And what white would you prefer?”

 

Steve looks at Bucky, raising his eyebrows, but he’s examining the menu. Steve purses his lips a little, plotting, then props his chin on a fist and smiles sweetly at Pierre. He’s neither attractive nor unattractive, but Steve could flirt with a brick wall.

 

“I don’t know a lot about wines,” he says, fluttering his lashes once or twice; not too much, he’s not playing a bimbo here. “What would you recommend, Pierre?”

 

“Well, it depends on what you would wish to pair the wine with,” Pierre offers. “Mr. Barnes normally orders the veal parmesan, for example, and gets the Chianti to go with it. If you prefer white wines, I would recommend the Littorai Thieriot Chardonnay with perhaps the scampi?”

 

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” Steve says regretfully.

 

Bucky looks up, but Steve, as he’s determined to get a rise out of him, keeps his gaze on Pierre. “I didn’t know that,” Bucky says. 

 

“I didn’t tell you,” Steve answers, glancing briefly at him before focusing on Pierre again. Steve sees Bucky frowning from the corner of his eye and holds back a victorious smirk.

 

“Then perhaps a Müller Riesling with the tilapia piccata,” Pierre suggests.

 

Steve gives a considering hum. He tilts his head to the side, purses his lips just a little, then taps his chin. He sees Bucky’s frown increase in the corner of his eye, but keeps up the act.

 

“We’ll take the Riesling,” Bucky says, shutting his menu. “Thank you.”

 

Pierre bows, dismissed, and Bucky snaps his fingers. Luke shuts the curtain and Bucky turns to face Steve in the booth. Steve turns to face him in return, smiling sweetly.

 

“Alright,” Bucky says in a level but stern tone. “What was that?”

 

“I don’t know wines,” Steve says with a shrug.

 

Bucky scowls. “You were flirting.”

 

“Oh, was I?” Steve says with feigned innocence. “Aw, shoot, I didn’t mean to.”

 

“Shuddup,” Bucky growls, snatching him by the waist and yanking him flush against him. “You never do nothing by accident.”

 

“I never meant to flirt, honest,” Steve insists. He even flutters his lashes a few times.

 

Bucky scowls some more, then grabs the back of his neck and kisses him sharply. Steve shivers under his jealous attention.

 

“You’re mine,” Bucky murmurs against his lips. “Don’t forget it.”

 

“I’m not forgetting,” Steve answers. He grins, their lips still touching as their noses brush. “I’m just playing with you.”

 

“This is a game, is it?” Bucky asks.

 

“Yep,” Steve answers, popping the _p_ and tilting his head back to smile with his lips parted and eyes on Bucky’s mouth. “And you just won.”

 

Bucky flicks an eyebrow up. Steve sweeps his tongue over his teeth, grins and pulls back. Bucky’s arm cinches down on his waist, however, and tugs him closer again.

 

“Is this the kind of game,” he starts in a low tone, “where you piss me off on purpose and I get to spank you after?”

 

Steve shivers and grins, as his heart skips a beat and his breath catches in his throat. “Isn’t that what I meant by winning?” he asks.

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t smile, but that’s not his style anyway. His eyes take on the predatory gleam, and for all Steve’s teasing, he feels like he’s won.

 

“So you’re gonna spank me when we get home, right?” he prompts.

 

Bucky gives a considering hum. He brushes at Steve’s hair, which had fallen out of its upsweep from the petting in the car, then picks up his menu again.

 

“If you deserve it,” he says, and leaves it at that. Steve grins, smug.

 

The waiter returns with the wine. Steve is determined to deserve anything Bucky might want to give him, so he smiles and bats his lashes and leans forward when he talks, and their waiter looks mildly bemused while Bucky keeps clenching his jaw like he’s regretting practically giving Steve permission to flirt with the waiter. Steve is absolutely delighted with the turn of events. Bucky clearly has a jealous streak as wide as the Long Island Sound, which, again, Steve hadn’t even known he’d be into until it was happening.

 

When Pierre brings back the check and Bucky’s credit card at the end of the meal, Steve steals it for a brief second to put down a fifty dollar tip. Bucky looks at it, then at him and raises his eyebrows.

 

“I liked the service,” Steve says with a flick of his eyebrows.

 

Bucky works his jaw from side to side. He puts the receipt back and tucks away his card, then gets out of the booth on the other side and jerks his head at Luke and Hunter. Steve slides out and links his arm through Bucky’s, daydreaming already.

 

“Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Barnes,” the maitre de says as they leave. Bucky doesn’t even answer her.

 

The valet brings up the car, but Bucky doesn’t let Steve get in just yet. Hunter checks the back seat and the trunk while Luke looks over the engine and then the front seat. Steve files the information away to think about later; he’s back to fixating on the Benz’s tinted windows and Beyoncé’s _Partition._

 

Hunter nods to Bucky and Luke turns the ignition. Bucky puts a hand on the small of his back and lightly pushes Steve towards the car. He gets in, sliding to the middle, and Bucky folds himself into the car next to him for Hunter to shut the door. Bucky doesn’t look at Steve. His jaw is tight and gaze focused on the partition. Steve hears Hunter’s door shut and feels the car begin to move, then Bucky grabs his wrist and tugs him in. Steve throws a leg over his lap and smiles innocently down at him.

 

“Yes, sir?” Steve asks with glee.

 

“You’re a brat,” Bucky answers. “You’re gonna have to make it up to me if you want to come tonight.”

 

“Aw,” Steve says with an exaggerated pout. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

 

Bucky shuts his eyes and shakes his head, then he loosens and laughs. “You’re a real piece of work, Rogers,” he says with a chuckle.

 

“I’m your real piece of work, Daddy,” Steve says, making Bucky groan. “Aw, Daddy, don’t be mad at me.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Bucky grumbles, “you earned it.”

 

Steve grins. “I earned what?” he prompts.

 

“I’m thinking…” Bucky starts out, then reaches up and fists a hand in his hair. “Five spanks.”

 

“Just five?” Steve says, crooking a brow. “C’mon, Buck, you don’t gotta use kid gloves.”

 

Bucky simply raised both eyebrows at him in return. “I wasn’t intending to,” he says, and Steve finds his mouth going dry.

 

Bucky brushes through Steve’s hair once, then grips it again hard, forcing his head back. Steve swallows with difficulty, and Bucky nuzzles his neck. Bucky begins to mouth lazy kisses down his neck, and it would be generous to call it kissing, but Steve’s blood is still thrumming hot in his veins. He swallows with difficulty, feeling his throat dry, too. Bucky grips his hair, just tight enough to keep it taut but not hard enough to be painful, to keep his head pulled back.

 

Obviously, Steve bares his throat to Bucky often and is perfectly comfortable with it. But Bucky has never forced him to expose his throat to him before, and Steve’s reaction to it is greater than he would have expected. Bucky is just barely kissing him, but Steve has gone from the light thrum of anticipation to full arousal the second Bucky pulled back his head.

 

He’s way too into this. He’s supposed to be seducing James Barnes, not the other way around.

 

Bucky’s open lips lift to his ear; he nips at the cartilage before kissing it and Steve inhales sharply. “We’ll start with five,” he murmurs. His voice, _God,_ his voice is low so that his words catch in his throat and cause vibrations that Steve can feel where he’s pressed to Bucky’s front and, _God,_ Steve was supposed to be the one seducing him but he’s never felt more alive in his life than he does with James Barnes’s full attention on him. He licks his lips, then swallows again.

 

“We’ll start with five,” Bucky says a second time, and maybe he’s worried that Steve didn’t hear him because he grips his hair tighter and kisses his ear before biting it again and moving back down his neck. “And if you’re still not sorry for pissing off your sir, we’ll go from there.”

 

“I won’t be sorry,” Steve says with certainty.

 

Bucky clucks his tongue. “That’ll be a shame,” he says, “because you won’t get to come until you are.”

 

Steve sucks in another breath, feeling lightheaded because all his blood has succumbed to gravity and he rolls his hips against Bucky’s, then again because he can feel him getting hard and wants more of him. Bucky grabs his hips, though, and forces him to be still.

 

“Remember how I told you that little shits don’t get what they want?” Bucky says. Steve vaguely nods and Bucky smirks. “See, you’re learning.”

 

Bucky shoves him off his lap. Steve grabs his knees for balance, landing on the floor, and Bucky smirks while Steve gets his breath.

 

“What are your safe words?” he asks. Steve swallows through his dry throat.

 

“Brooklyn to stop,” he answers from memory. “Jersey to slow down. Tap my hand three times if I can’t talk. One tap means yes, two taps mean no.”

 

“Very good,” Bucky says, as his hand goes to the snap of his slacks. “Here’s what’s going to happen.”

 

Steve licks his lips, watching Bucky unzip his fly. Bucky grabs Steve by the jaw and forces him to look up.

 

“You’re gonna keep my cock warm,” Bucky says. “And that’s it. When we get home, you’re going to go upstairs and get naked. But leave your panties on. You’re gonna get on the bed, on your knees facing the headboard, and you’re going to wait for me. Clear?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve says. He licks his lips compulsively.

 

Bucky releases his jaw. Steve leans forward, for Bucky to put a hand on his face and hold him back.

 

“If you try to suck me off,” Bucky adds, “you will not come at all tonight.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve says again with sincerity.

 

Bucky lets him go and Steve leans forward, letting his mouth fall open. Bucky brushes a hand through Steve' hair, just smirking down at him, then gets a firm grip on his hair and holds him in place. Steve looks up, wondering why he's holding him back, and sticks his tongue out for good measure. Bucky flashes him a predatory smile, then pulls down the waistband of his boxers.

 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, “you’re just gonna keep my cock warm and you’re drooling for it still.”

 

“‘M thirsty, sir,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky smirks. Steve sticks his tongue out again, farther, and Bucky grips it instead of guiding him forward.

 

“I should just keep you around all the time if you’re always so thirsty,” he says. “Stash you under my desk and let you drool until I’m feelin’ generous. What’d’you think, baby boy? I could buy you a leash if you’re gonna stick your tongue out like a fucking dog.”

 

Steve, since he can’t talk with Bucky holding his tongue, raises his hands to frame Bucky’s hips and taps them once.

 

Bucky grins and gives a light tug on his tongue, pulling him forward. Steve looks down and feels his mouth watering, either from holding his tongue out or want or both.

 

“I could collar you, doll,” Bucky murmurs, like it had only just occurred to him. “If you're only mine. You wanna be collared? Wear a little tag that says _property of James Barnes?_ ”

 

Steve taps his hand once. Bucky grins wider.

 

“‘Course you do,” he says, tugging on his tongue again. “You’re my harlot.”

 

 _Fuck,_ Steve thinks, _his harlot._ He’s drooling all over Bucky’s hand; he whines and a drop falls and hits the bench between Bucky’s thighs. Bucky clucks his tongue.

 

“You’re makin’ a mess, doll,” he says. “Ain’t the kind I like, neither.”

 

Steve nudges his head forward, but Bucky keeps his grip firm on his tongue.

 

“Swallow,” he orders.

 

Steve tries to tug his tongue back into his mouth and Bucky pinches it. “Nope,” he says. “This is mine now.”

 

Steve closes his lips on his tongue, then swallows what he can. It’s difficult, and there’s still saliva pooled under his tongue, but he opens his mouth again and tries to press forward. Bucky doesn’t let him yet.

 

“Look at you,” Bucky says again. He lifts his thumb and touches it to the barbell in Steve's tongue; Steve stretches his tongue out as far as he can in response. “Getting your face all a mess," Bucky murmurs. "Certainly look like a dog, baby boy.”

 

Steve whines again, pressing forward into Bucky’s hand, and he laughs.

 

“Now you sound like one,” Bucky says. He tugs Steve forward by the tongue, until his forehead presses into the silk of his waistcoat and Steve strains to get lower. “Remember, bad dogs don’t get to play with their masters, Stevie. You’re only keeping my cock warm until we get home.”

 

Then he lets go of his tongue. Steve ducks his head, relaxes his throat and presses his forehead into Bucky’s waistcoat again. He hums, his voice all but cut off, breathing through his nose now. Bucky sweeps a hand through Steve's hair.

 

“There,” he says, sounding pleased and Steve smiles as much as he can with his mouth stretched open. “Let’s talk about that collar.”

 

Steve hums faintly. Bucky sweeps a hand through his hair and grips it again.

 

“Nah,” Bucky adds, “ _I’m_ gonna talk about your collar. I don’t wanna feel you make a sound, got it?”

 

Steve taps his hand once. Bucky relaxes his grip, sweeping his fingers through Steve’s hair.

 

“It’s gonna say _Property of James Barnes,_ ” he says. Steve gives his hand an enthusiastic tap. “You look good in blue, doll. I’m thinking somethin’ pastel, somethin’ matching your eyes, but with them spikes you like so damn much. What’d’you think?”

 

Bucky thumbs at his ear while he speaks. Steve taps his hand once again.

 

“Gonna make you my bitch,” Bucky tells him; Steve shivers. “You’re gonna be the best damn new kid on the art scene, world’s gonna be asking for your muse and you’re gonna tell ‘em all it’s your sir, won’t you?”

 

Steve taps his hand once. It’s taking all his resolve to not even move his tongue.

 

“Look at you,” Bucky says softly, “gonna look so damn good with a collar ‘round your throat, doll. I’ll get you a necklace to match so you can wear it in public.”

 

Steve taps his hand again. He’ll say _yes_ to anything Bucky wants. He presses his forehead into Bucky’s waistcoat, adjusts his weight on his knees and the bench of the car. His mouth is dry in places, but his throat is starting to relax without his making it. Bucky continues to pet his hair and Steve’s eyes are falling shut; if he weren’t so turned on, he’d be falling asleep. He loves Bucky petting his hair.

 

“You can wear it all the time,” Bucky tells him. “I’ll get you a whole set, you can pick just which one’ll match your outfit, wear ‘em every day, everywhere.”

 

Steve taps his fingers lightly. Then the car goes over a pothole and Steve chokes. He grabs Bucky’s hips to hold onto him while he gets his breath back, but Bucky yanks on Steve's hair to pull him off.

 

“Breathe,” he orders. Steve swallows gathered saliva, then inhales obediently. “You’re allowed to pull off, Steve,” Bucky says in a stern tone.

 

“Sorry,” Steve mumbles. Bucky’s lips turn down in a frown. There are lines in his forehead that remind Steve of his age.

 

“How are your knees?” Bucky demands. “Do you need to get off the floor?”

 

Steve shakes his head. He’s held still by Bucky’s hand in his hair, but he’s breathed now and he wants to get back to keeping Bucky’s cock warm.

 

“You need something, you get it,” Bucky snaps. “If something hurts, and I mean it hurts bad, you give me a safe word. You don’t like something, say so. If you’re choking, pull off! Anything, Steve, fuck, you need a fucking drink of water, fucking say something!”

 

“Sorry,” Steve mutters again. Bucky sighs. He lifts his other hand and cups Steve’s cheek.

 

“Fucking Fang,” Bucky growls. He relaxes his grip on Steve’s hair and runs his fingers through it to soothe the fading sting on his scalp. “You better remember that, punk.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers, feeling a little ashamed and not wanting to dwell on it, so he licks his lips and flicks his gaze down. Bucky sighs, as if it’s so much trouble, but pulls him down. Steve settles his face back in Bucky’s lap, letting his throat go lax and shutting his eyes.

 

“Can you breathe?” Bucky asks sharply.

 

Steve taps his hand. He can breathe through his nose just fine. He’s had plenty of practice breathing through his nose with his mouth filled. He isn’t even taking Bucky all the way down anyway, just holding him in his mouth, so it’s not like his throat is blocked off. Bucky combs through his hair again.

 

“You know I’m serious ‘bout that,” Bucky says, and this time his voice is soft. “This dynamic puts me in charge, but you got the final say, alright?”

 

Steve taps his hand once. He knows that. He has power over Barnes and he knows it. He doesn’t want to lose it by not pleasing him is the issue. One wrong move and Barnes might lose interest, leaving Steve back to his shit apartment in his shady neighborhood with nothing but cheap food to eat and cheap heels paying his rent.

 

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days,” Bucky grumbles. He runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, a disarming contrast to the hot thrum of his blood, and Steve nearly breaks to suckle lightly at him, just to grasp the edge of the headspace he’s teetering on and jump into it. Bucky might think him naive, but Steve knows what subspace is, and now he knows how it feels and like James Barnes’s attention, it’s addictive. But he keeps his resolve, remembering Bucky’s threat if he broke the rules, and after the day he’s had, Steve does not want to be edged without a payoff.

 

“Fucking hell,” Bucky continues to complain. Steve flicks his gaze upward, unimpressed. “Seriously, Steve.”

 

Steve taps his hand twice. Bucky’s expression switches to confusion and he tightens his grip on Steve’s hair, as if to pull him off, and Steve presses closer to his body, refusing to be moved.

 

“What, you’re mad at me now?”

 

Steve taps his hand once.

 

Bucky lets out a short breath. Steve flicks him in retaliation.

 

“I see,” Bucky says. “Only you get to complain. I get it.”

 

Steve raises his eyebrows. Bucky rolls his eyes, sweeps through his hair once more. “You’re lucky you’re fucking precious,” he says.

 

Steve grins as best he can, then leans his forehead against Bucky’s stomach and relaxes between his thick thighs, sprawled to accommodate Steve as he kneels on the floor of the Benz. He’s doing Beyoncé proud, he thinks vaguely.

 

Some time later, Bucky grips his hair again. “Get off,” he says. Steve pulls back, pouting. Saliva trails past his lips to drop in a line down his chin, and Bucky looks down at him with unconcerned eyes. “Clean yourself up, slut,” he orders. “We’re nearly home.”

 

Steve stretches out his tongue and licks his chin clean, leaving his face shiny and debauched, he’s sure. Bucky clucks his tongue at him.

 

“You still look a mess,” he scolds. Bucky adjusts his grip on Steve’s hair to lean forward and kiss him, hard and harsh, and Steve’s glad for his knees bracketing him because his body goes limp and he has something to hold onto. Bucky pulls back, and Steve’s sure his face is twice as messy as before. “You look like you been suckin’ dick all day, sweet thing,” Bucky remarks, sounding proud.

 

Steve flashes him a grin. “Haven’t I?” he whispers. His voice is hoarse.

 

Bucky flicks an eyebrow up. Then he looks off to the side and picks up Steve’s discarded shirt from earlier, shakes it out and wipes Steve’s face off it, a little roughly. Steve flutters shut his eyes for a moment, pressing his hips into the bench just a little. Bucky grips his hair.

 

“None of that,” he snaps. “You don’t get nothing ‘til I’ve spanked your ass cherry red, slut.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve exhales.

 

“What do you say?” Bucky demands. “Don’t be ungrateful, now.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve adds obediently. Bucky waves a hand, demanding he go on. “I’m so happy, sir,” Steve says. He swallows and licks his lips, struggling for words, even as Bucky looks down on him with expectant eyes. “Thank you for letting me keep warm your cock, sir,” he continues. “I’ll do it anytime you’ll let me, sir.”

 

“Better,” Bucky says.

 

“Thank you for telling me you’ll get me a collar,” Steve goes on. “And for offering to let me sit under your desk. I wanna keep your cock warm all the time, sir.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Bucky tells him with a smirk.

 

“Will you?” Steve asks.

 

“Will I what?” Bucky questions.

 

“Stash me under your desk,” Steve says. He licks his lips again, compulsively. “Let me drool for your cock all day.”

 

Bucky’s smirk grows. “Maybe,” he says.

 

“I would be so good for you,” Steve promises. “You could plug me up in the morning, take me out during your lunch break and plug me back up when you’re done with me. Keep your come in me all day ‘til we get home so it's not wasted, watch it leak out, sir.”

 

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers softly.

 

Steve leans closer, lifting up until their noses touch and his lashes brush his cheeks as he looks at Bucky’s mouth, then Bucky tightens his grip and pulls his head back to expose his throat. Steve swallows, maintaining eye contact, and he murmurs, “I wanna be your bitch, sir.”

 

Bucky’s lips curl into a smile.

 

Steve feels the transmission go into park, his knees on the floor of the Benz and all. He lifts up and kisses Bucky, half desperate and sincere in it, and Bucky grips the hairs on the back of his neck. Then pulls him back off.

 

“Get up,” Bucky says shortly. The front doors of the car open and shut and Steve lifts off the floor to settle onto the bench. His knees feel numb, and he realizes that his legs fell asleep while he was kneeling. He winces as they seize up and pins and needles set in. Bucky glances at Steve's legs, then their door opens.

 

Bucky gets out and Steve shuffles as best he can out of the car. Bucky holds out a hand, Steve takes it, but Bucky doesn’t tuck it into his elbow. He pulls Steve into his chest and bends his knees to lift him into his arms. Steve lets his legs hang on either side of Bucky’s hips gratefully, letting the blood and feeling return to them. Hunter shuts the car door behind them and Steve sees him give Luke a look. Luke shrugs as he takes out Steve’s bags, but Bucky’s walking away and Steve tucks his head into his neck. Whatever. He doesn’t care what Bucky’s suits think. He likes Bucky carrying him. Like he’s fucking precious.

 

Steve peeks out a few times, and they’re taking a back hallway to the central elevator rather than going through the lobby. He expects Luke and Hunter to turn back at the elevator, but they just get in behind Bucky and stand at ease while the operator, who had looked briefly startled to have someone enter behind him instead of in front, presses the button for the 95th floor. Steve puts his head back in Bucky’s neck as the elevator rises.

 

It stops. Steve looks up again, and Luke and Hunter both exit the elevator into Bucky’s penthouse, leaving Steve’s bags in the foyer but continuing into the apartment. Steve pulls back, frowning in confusion at Bucky, but Bucky just stands there in the elevator, waiting for something. Steve glances over his shoulder a few times, as a minute goes by, then two, then three, and almost five before Luke and Hunter appear again.

 

“Clear,” Luke tells Bucky, who finally exits the elevator. The doors shut on the two bodyguards and Bucky lowers Steve to the floor, shifting his hands to his elbows as if to hold him upright.

 

“As we discussed,” Bucky says.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers. Then stands up on his toes to kiss Bucky’s cheek, before stealing away and darting up the stairs. Steve glances back once and Bucky’s touching his cheek.

 

In Bucky’s room, Steve unbuttons his shirt, folds it and puts it on the dresser. Then he takes out his earrings, walking over to put them on the nightstand. He sits down to unlace his shoes before putting them by the dresser and taking off his pants to fold them next to the shirt. That leaves him naked but for his panties, as he’d been instructed.

 

Steve crawls onto the bed on his knees, then leans forward until his resting on his forearms and waits. He can only hope Bucky won’t make him wait long.

 

The palm spreading over his ass startles him. Steve gasps, but pushes back into it, then wonders how the hell Bucky got in the room without him noticing?

 

“D’aw,” Bucky murmurs mockingly above him, “lookit’chu, like a bitch in heat, you are. Horny little slut, ain’tcha?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve whimpers.

 

Bucky presses both hands to Steve's ass now, warm palms over the cheap lace that slide over his hips and upper thighs to come back and squeeze his asscheeks. Steve presses into Bucky's hands, his mouth dry even as saliva pools around his gums.

 

“How many did I say I’d give you?” Bucky asks.

 

“Five, sir,” Steve mutters.

 

“And is that all you’re getting?”

 

“Dunno, sir,” Steve answers, then has to swallow spit to keep from drooling again. Fuck, Bucky hasn’t even started. “Said you’d start with five.”

 

“That’s right,” Bucky says.

 

The first one takes Steve by surprise. Bucky pulls his hand away as if to run it down his back and fist it in his hair, or at least that’s what Steve thought he was going to do, but instead brings it down hard right over the center of his left asscheek. Steve gasps again; but he barely has time to react before Bucky’s palming his ass again and squeezing it lightly.

 

“Count ‘em,” Bucky tells him in an almost bored tone.

 

“One,” Steve answers immediately. “I thought you’d –”

 

Bucky cuts him off by smacking his other cheek, harder than the first time and Steve’s whole body rocks with the recoil as he sucks in a breath. A hot numbness spreads over the point of the slap, which then turns into a sensitive stinging that, when Steve shifts his legs, catches on the lace of his panties and makes him hiss.

 

“Thought I’d what?” Bucky asks, quite calm compared to Steve, who’s already writhing despite the sting of lace on his skin.

 

“Make me strip,” Steve answers in a mutter. “Fuck, two.”

 

“I did,” Bucky says. Then he slides both palms down Steve's thighs, Bucky's thumbs curl inward and his fingers push under the hem of Steve’s panties. Steve sucks in another breath as they slide right back up, under his panties this time. Bucky's thumbs follow the inside of Steve's thighs up to his ass. The lace, previously smooth, is itchy on Steve’s blood-flushed skin and Bucky’s hands are hot.

 

“I told you to strip but leave the panties on,” Bucky says. He bends and presses a kiss to the small of Steve’s back, near the bend in his spine. “Now why would I wanna make you take these off right away?" he asks in a slightly mocking tone, like Steve is dumb for not knowing. "You look so fuckable in ‘em.”

 

Then – and Steve groans at it – Bucky hooks his thumbs into the crack of Steve's ass and spreads his cheeks. Bucky gives a low whistle, he spreads Steve’s ass until the seat of the panties slip past his cheeks to smack against his skin. Steve almost whimpers at the whistle, but feeling his panties snap makes him jerk.

 

“Oh, look, you’re gettin’ ‘em all wet,” Bucky says, as though he’s disappointed by it. “Damn, by the time I’m done, you’ll have ruined these.”

 

“Take ‘em off,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky withdraws his hands and Steve tenses, waiting for the slap, but Bucky just smooths out the panties so they’re resting between his cheeks tautly.

 

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll just buy you more.”

 

Then he slaps him hard across the upper thigh and Steve definitely whimpers as he mumbles: “Three.”

 

“Remind me what your safe words are,” Bucky says.

 

“Brooklyn to stop, Jersey to slow,” Steve recites. “Three taps of my hand.”

 

He hardly gets out the last word when Bucky slaps him hard across the ass. Steve makes a choked noise, half a gasp and half a moan, and tacks on a high-pitched: “Four!” to the end of his sentence.

 

“Already?” Bucky says, kneading at his ass now. “I feel like you can take more than five. Let’s try ten.”

 

Steve whimpers again. He presses back into Bucky’s hands, despite the itch of the lace. It’s rubbing up against his hole, and lace soaked in slick is a highly different sensation to dry lace. He rocks his hips back again, feeling friction against him and groaning on it.

 

“That’s it,” Bucky encourages softly, “just take it.”

 

He slaps Steve hard across the thigh again, then catches him by surprise by following it with an immediate pinch and Steve groans out: “Five,” while Bucky’s nails bite into his flesh.

 

“You should see yourself,” Bucky says conversationally as he smacks Steve across both cheeks this time. “Ass all red next to your lovely blue panties, gettin’ ‘em all wet with your greedy hole, sticking your ass in the air and just begging for more. I should take a picture, make you draw it so you know what you look like when you’re desperate.”

 

“Fuck, six, fuck –”

 

“What do you want, baby?” Bucky asks him before slapping him once again on a thigh, spreading a buzzing pain throughout Steve's skin to join the hot numbness on his ass. “Maybe if you beg pretty enough," Bucky adds, "I’ll make you hold your legs open and paint that greedy hole up, really ruin these panties.”

 

“Seven, sir; please, fuck me," Steve begs, "please fuck me, sir –”

 

“Oh, you want me to fuck you?” Bucky laughs.

 

His palms retract and Steve braces for the eighth hit, only for Bucky's hands to return softly, lightly caressing Steve's ass over his panties. Steve’s knees slip farther apart as he shifts, rocking back on the panties as they’re the only friction he’s getting.

 

“Y’know, I think I got some idea of how much you want that," Bucky comments. "You’re drooling again, doll.”

 

Steve licks his lips, and there’s spit on them, indeed. He doesn’t have time to answer before Bucky’s palm is landing hard in the center of his left asscheek and then the right in quick succession.

 

“Eight, nine!” Steve gasps out. “Fuck, fuck –”

 

“You sorry yet you pissed me off?” Bucky asks, kneading the flesh that he’d just slapped hard enough Steve felt it in his teeth. “Don’t think I don’t see you tryna fuck these panties, doll. You’re not gonna come ‘til you’re sorry.”

 

Steve presses his ass back into Bucky’s hands. “You’re gon’ make me come anyway,” he mumbles, “‘cause you like the faces I make.”

 

Bucky’s fingers abruptly bite into his skin, sharp spikes of sensation where the hot stinging numbness of his palms’ strikes had spread over Steve’s entire lower body and Steve lets out a choked noise, half of a moan and half of a whimper.

 

“I’ll do what I like with you,” Bucky snaps. “You belong to me.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve sighs quickly in answer.

 

“Say it,” Bucky demands. His fingers massage Steve’s ass, a gentle caress one second and digging in with his nails the next. “Say who you belong to, slut.”

 

“You, sir!” Steve answers immediately. “Always you, sir, never nobody else," he says, beginning to babble, "never nobody else I ever wanted to belong to sir, never wanted to be owned like this by anybody but you, sir –”

 

“Damn right,” Bucky growls. “How many did I say I’d give you?”

 

“Ten, sir,” Steve answers. He presses his ass into Bucky’s hands, drooling for that tenth hit, for the sharp thud followed but the buzzing numbness, and maybe after Bucky will shove a finger or four up his ass and stretch him out fast and rough and then fuck into him faster and rougher so he won’t be able to walk straight in the morning –

 

“I think you deserve fifteen for your smart mouth,” Bucky says.

 

Steve whimpers.

 

“And maybe after this, I’ll stuff up your ungrateful ass and leave you to ruin these panties,” Bucky tells him in a calm tone, then just tuts when Steve lets out a distressed whine. “What, if you’re just gonna flirt with everything on legs, you should be happy with a dildo to keep you company for the night, right?”

 

“No, no, sir,” Steve says hastily, pressing his whole body backwards into Bucky’s hands, “please, sir, please, wanna feel you, wanna be good for you, sir, please, I don’t need to come, I just need you to fuck me –”

 

Bucky’s palm lands hard on his ass and Steve breaks off to howl; he hits dead center of every other strike he’s landed on his ass and hits twice as hard as any other blow and Steve’s gasping mostly out of the shock. His ass feels like it’s on fire, every square inch of skin alive with a hot buzzing pain.

 

“That’s right,” Bucky says. Steve didn’t feel Bucky moving closer, but his voice is right in his ear and Steve shivers out of reflex. “You don’t need anything but to make me happy. That’s all you live for, isn’t it, Stevie?" Bucky asks in a soft murmur. "You’re just here for me to fuck you whenever I want, because you’re mine, aren’t you?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve whimpers. “Yessir, all yours, yours to fuck all the time, any time, yours, sir –”

 

“This is my ass,” Bucky croons in his ear, hands squeezing his stinging cheeks and Steve can feel slick dripping down his thighs. “Mine to make a mess of and to make you clean up. Your whole damn body belongs to me, Stevie. And that means your orgasms are mine, aren’t they? They’re mine for me to decide whether you deserve them or not, and right now, I don’t think you deserve one.”

 

“Don’t need one,” Steve mumbles, and it would surprise him if he were in his right mind, but he couldn’t care less about coming right now. “All I need is you in me, sir.”

 

“Is that so?” Bucky asks quietly. Steve feels him pull back and rub at his ass again and he doesn’t even brace himself for the next hit. “How many is that, slut?”

 

“Ten, sir,” he answers, his voice breathy and whiny.

 

“Are you sure? I think that was only nine.”

 

Then Bucky spanks Steve again, twice on each cheek in rapid succession, and Steve spits out a: “Twelve, twelve, sir,” between groans.

 

“No, I think that was only eleven,” Bucky says, then catches the fold of flesh where his ass meets his thigh and pinches; Steve sucks in a sharp, short breath. “They don’t count if you don’t count ‘em, baby boy.”

 

“Eleven,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky rubs his palm over his stinging flesh and Steve imagines him grinning down on his red ass with the look of a hungry wolf about to feast.

 

“See,” Bucky prompts, “you’re learning.”

 

His palm strikes hard against the lower crest of Steve’s ass and Steve initially gasps before moaning, exhaling a wrecked: “Twelve.”

 

“You don’t need to come,” Bucky says, then spanks Steve across the other cheek. “You just need _me_ to come. You don’t even need me to come in you, you just need my dick in you long enough to get you real wet and that’s it. Anything more, you’ve got to earn it.”

 

“Thirteen,” Steve mumbles when he’s finished.

 

“Do you think you’ve earned my cock?” Bucky asks him, though Steve is sure his response will mean nothing.

 

“Yessir,” he says, because he wants it so bad. “Wanna feel you come in me, sir, I don’t need you to prep me, I don’t need anything but to make you come, sir, please –”

 

“Doll,” Bucky cuts him off sternly, it’s startling how much like a scolding he can make the word _doll_ sound, “‘course you need prep. Look at you, your little hole’s all tight from gettin’ spanked, you can’t take my cock with no prep, baby.”

 

“Please, I can –”

 

Bucky spanks him again and Steve cries out, jolting forward and then back. “Fourteen! Please, sir, please fuck me!”

 

“You sorry you turned your eyes on another man, baby?” Bucky growls. “You sorry you forgot who you belong to?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve pants out, “I belong to you, only to you, never nobody else, please, sir!”

 

Bucky’s palm hits his ass one last time and Steve nearly yells out: “Fifteen! Fifteen, sir!”

 

“There,” Bucky says, and his voice is drastically quiet compared to Steve openly panting. “You paid for your poor manners. Now you’re gonna make it up to me.”

 

Steve feels Bucky's fingers close on the hem of his panties and yank down finally. Steve makes a high-pitched keening sound, pressing back into Bucky's hands and letting his mouth fall open; he adjusts his arms and props up his forehead on them. He feels saliva on his lip drip and splash on the blanket.

 

“Come on now, don’t be ungrateful,” Bucky says. “What do you say?”

 

Steve’s whole body trembles, but it's a good strain. “Thank you, sir,” he says with difficulty. “Thank you for spanking me, sir.”

 

“Good boy,” Bucky says in a low purr.

 

Bucky’s hands splay on Steve's lower back, shift down and slide down his legs. Then he grabs Steve by the ankles and yanks his legs out from under him, making him hit the bed and Steve lets out a sharp gasp.

 

“You’ve made these poor things such a mess,” Bucky tuts as he plucks at the hem of the panties. The waistband now rests just under Steve's ass, but it still covers him in the front and Steve can feel the itch of the dry lace next to the hot friction of damp lace and it’s driving him crazy. “You might as well leave ‘em on, baby boy.”

 

“Whatever you want, sir,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Whatever I want is right,” Bucky murmurs.

 

Bucky spreads his hands over Steve's back again, then a finger trails down his spine; slow, the rough pad drawing out a long shiver as it goes down his back. Steve half lifts his hips back off the bed but Bucky catches him with his other hand and holds Steve still.

 

“You’ll get three of my fingers,” Bucky tells Steve. The finger slips between Steve's cheeks, is met by another and Steve whimpers as Bucky casually spreads his asscheeks apart. “No more, no less. Got it?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky grabs Steve by the waist, then flips him abruptly and Steve finds himself staring up into Bucky's eyes. His ass burns on the cool satin of the duvet, but the fabric sucks the heat out of the rest of him. His heart does a jumpkick in his chest and Bucky grabs him by the jaw, holding him in place even though Steve would never dare move. His heart is still doing the kick.

 

“And if you try tellin’ me you don’t need prep like that again, you won’t get nothing more than my fingers,” Bucky snaps. “Hear?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve says. “Sir…”

 

“What?” Bucky says. He squeezes Steve by the jaw, pushing his lips together and Steve lifts his chin to let him. “You got something to say, say it,” Bucky orders.

 

Steve licks his lips. Bucky looks at his mouth, his eyes hungry.

 

“Wanna feel it tomorrow,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Is that so?” Bucky murmurs. With his other hand, he grabs one of Steve’s calves and brings it up to throw over his shoulder, then runs his palm down the back of Steve's thigh and Steve shivers. “Is that why you don’t want prep?" Bucky asks. "You want to walk with a hitch to your step tomorrow, doll?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve whimpers. His heart hasn’t stopped kicking; it’s a harsh bass beat, a dark and rhythmic song thudding so hard he feels it in his ears, it hurts it beats so loud. Bucky’s eyes are still harsh and hard looking down on him, but they’re constant and hungry, like Steve is all Bucky can see. Like Steve is all he _wants_ to see. Steve’s heartbeat isn’t calming down anytime soon.

 

“You wanna walk lookin’ like the slut you are?” Bucky asks of Steve roughly. “You want everybody to know you let your sir fuck you fast and hard?”

 

“Yessir," Steve promises, "‘course, sir, please –”

 

“You’re not gonna be able to sit down with what I done to your ass,” Bucky growls.

 

“Please,” Steve begs.

 

Bucky bends and kisses him roughly, almost as rough as Steve’s hoping he’ll fuck him. “Put your hands above your head,” he says into Steve's mouth.

 

Steve raises his arms until they’re stretched out above his head and clasps his hands together. Bucky sits up then, leaving Steve’s knee thrown over his shoulder and loosens his tie. _Fuck,_ Steve hadn’t even noticed, but he’s still fully clothed, pressed slacks and shirt now wrinkled, while Steve’s almost entirely naked with his ass hanging out of his ruined panties and that’s definitely making his blood rise more than it should. Bucky tugs off his tie, then reaches up and loops it around Steve's wrists. Steve licks his lips.

 

Bucky knots the tie loosely, such that Steve would probably be able to pull his wrists free with little effort, and he doesn’t tie him to anything but his own self. He checks the knot with a tug of his finger and sits back on his heels to look down at Steve with a half-stern disinterest to the way he’s scowling.

 

“You pull free of that, you don’t get to come,” Bucky tells him. “‘Less you follow it up with one of your words. Got it?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve says. He takes care to lie his arms above him in a careful manner. The knot isn’t even a full knot, barely a loop, Steve might accidentally pull it free just by squirming.

 

“What words am I talking about?” Bucky snaps.

 

“Safeword,” Steve answers immediately. “Brooklyn means stop, Jersey means slow down,” he adds without needing prompting.

 

Bucky gives a firm nod and puts his hands at Steve’s waist. “Now then,” Bucky says in a quiet tone – dangerously quiet, the same damn tone he used to warn Rumlow not to make him mad right before he capped the bastard between the eyes – and Bucky spreads his palms over the sides of Steve’s ass, gripping his hips with fingers tight enough to bruise the bruises. “You’re not gonna say a word unless I ask you a question," Bucky tells Steve. "If that’s a problem, speak up.”

 

“Wha’ do I say?” Steve answers, slurring almost. “Hey, I can’t stay shut up?”

 

“Say _I need to talk, sir_ ,” Bucky instructs, then slaps Steve's hip lightly in a way that's more jarring than anything else, making the buzzing on his ass light up. “I expect you to tell me if you’re upset, whore.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers dutifully.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky says a second time, and slowly slides his hands up and down Steve's ribs as he speaks. “There’s a good little cumslut. Your pretty ass is all red next to these panties, though you dulled the color some gettin’ ‘em wet the way you are. I’ll have to get you some better quality lace, baby boy, this shit’s gonna burn when you put it back on.”

 

Steve opens his mouth to ask if Bucky’s really going to make him wear these by-now filthy panties again tonight, then snaps it shut when Bucky raises his eyebrows. He didn’t ask a question.

 

At Steve closing his mouth, Bucky slowly grins.

 

“There,” he coos in a mocking tone. “Now you’re listening. And you know I ain’t gonna ignore it when my little slut listens, right?”

 

Bucky’s hands sweeps over Steve’s hips, then dip inside his thighs. Steve throws his head back and bites hard on his lip to keep back a moan as Bucky’s fingers begin to probe.

 

“Hey, I said you couldn’t _talk,_ ” Bucky snaps. He pushes hard in with one finger, rough just like Steve wants and a whimper slips past Steve's lips. “There. Show me how much you’re desperate for this, baby. Moan, bitch.”

 

He crooks the finger and Steve moans just like he wants. Usually, it would be a rehearsed and faked sound, but Bucky’s finger stretches him so perfectly it burns like the numb flesh of his ass and hits a sensitive spot on the first try. Steve keens, taking panting breaths that leave his chest heaving. He’s so hot the buzzing numbness Bucky spanked into his ass is spreading all over his body. He’s back teetering on the edge of subspace like in the car, so close he can feel the buzzing hanging in the edges of his vision, putting Bucky and his predatory eyes the only thing in focus.

 

“That’s it,” Bucky encourages. “Make all the noise you want, baby boy, just don’t talk.”

 

Steve nods feverishly. Bucky smiles at him, something certainly wicked, filled with plots that Steve can only guess to, then forces a second finger into him. He jolts off the bed with a wretched sob, pressing the back of his head into the mattress as he arches his back and Bucky just laughs at him.

 

“Aw, did you like that, little slut?” Bucky coos. “You better, I ain’t just doin’ this for my health, y’know.”

 

“Yessir!” Steve gasps, knowing that Barnes wants answers.

 

“Eh, you seem like you’re not having fun yet,” Bucky tells him. “I’m starting to doubt if you really want me to fuck you, Stevie. Be a good whore, spread your legs for me.”

 

Steve throws the thigh not draped over Bucky’s shoulder off to the side immediately, whining softly as it’s all he can say to protest Bucky’s words.

 

“See, that’s better,” Bucky says. “That’s what you're best at, doll, opening your legs.”

 

A thought occurs to him, and Steve stretches out his fingers until his hands lie flat against each other.

 

The he taps them together once.

 

“Aw, what’s that meant to mean?” Bucky asks, tone back to mockingly cute like Steve is some sweet thing he’s enamored but ultimately bored with. “You tryna say yes without talking, doll?”

 

Steve claps once, and Bucky lets out a low chuckle.

 

“I guess I didn’t say you couldn’t use hand signals,” he muses. “So you agree, then? You’re best at opening your legs for your sir, and that’s all you’re good for?”

 

Steve claps once again, but moans as he does because Bucky crooks his fingers and a jolt of pleasure fills his gut. His fingers curl together and his hips lift and roll in reflex.

 

“Here’s an idea,” Bucky says, then his fingers still and Steve makes a sharp noise of protest, “do what whores do best and fuck yourself on my fingers, baby boy. Show me how much you want my cock.”

 

Steve, at first, whimpers because that will require _effort_ on his part and he just wanted Bucky to stretch him open ruthlessly and then fuck him with even less mercy. Then, because he can’t stand the lack of stimulation, he rolls his hips on Bucky’s fingers. He lets out a long sound, shifts his hips again and starts up a steady rhtythm.

 

Bucky whistles softly and despite himself, Steve blushes down his neck and in his ears.

 

“What a sight,” Bucky sighs. “Desperate little slut, so hungry for cock he’ll fuck himself on two fingers. You want three, baby boy?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve says quickly, “please, sir!”

 

Bucky hums like he’s considering it and Steve whimpers as he’s fucking himself back and forth on just two of his fingers, while the stretch burns but doesn’t nearly satisfy. Three fingers is all he would get, Bucky had said, so once he's taken three fingers, he should get Bucky’s cock. Steve doesn’t want to put any more brain power into logic than he has to.

 

“Gonna have to work harder than that to get what you want, little whore,” Bucky tells him. “I ain’t convinced you really want it yet. Looks to me like you’re just fine with what you got, doll.”

 

Steve bites off a whine of _no!_ and presses into Bucky’s hand harder, trying to get his fingers deeper. He half struggles for breath now, starting to roll his whole body into it.

 

“Come on, now, Steve,” Bucky says with mocking in his voice “you’re a slut for my cock, baby, don’t you want more?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve keens out, “please, please, sir, I need it, sir –”

 

“Did I ask if you needed it?” Bucky snaps.

 

Then Bucky presses his free palm to Steve’s throat and while before he was teetering on the edge of subspace, now Steve falls in headfirst.

 

His vision tunnels and all he can see is Bucky, eyes sharp and hungry and dilated, his lip curled in a cruel smirk, his hands relaxed where he’s touching Steve. Steve whines low, follows it with a hitched breath and tries arching his back off the bed to get Bucky’s fingers in deeper. He needs them deeper, needs them filling him, needs to feel Bucky surrounding him and enveloping him and _owning_ him like no one ever has before, like Steve has never even wanted to feel before.

 

“There,” Bucky whispers, now grinning so his gold canine shines. Steve imagines he can see the ropes of spit connecting his fangs where he’s salivating in hunger, imagines he’s the feast laid out for Bucky to devour, and his vision tunnels just a little bit more so even Bucky’s dark eyes are blurry and all he can see is that one gold tooth.

 

“There you are,” Bucky says again with obvious glee, obvious enough that Steve can see it even now and he lets out a sound akin to a purr in response to it. “A complete and utter wreck, dirty little cumslut hungry for my cock.”

 

“Please, sir,” Steve whispers, forgetting that he’s not supposed to talk.

 

“You want my cock, baby boy?” Bucky asks. A third finger traces down the line of his ass and Steve makes a loud, high-pitched keening sound as he nods furiously, rolling his hips as if he can get that third finger to slip lower and push in just like that. Bucky’s still grinning, the wolf’s hunger making his gold tooth gleam as his ring finger slips lower and lower and Steve continues to pant in want and need.

 

His finger is tantalizingly close now, so close Steve can feel himself clenching in anticipation, and Bucky whistles again. “Look at you,” he says. “What a mess. Look at what you’ve done, Stevie, there’s no saving these panties now, you’ve ruined ‘em good an’ proper jus’ like I told you to. You’re a wet mess and I only got two fingers in you. Fuck, look at you.”

 

The fingers pressed to his throat squeeze and Steve forgets to breathe for a second. Bucky grins down at him, looming to fill Steve's whole vision.

 

“Here,” Bucky says sweetly and condescendingly, “maybe this’ll help.”

 

Steve gasps as Bucky shoves a third finger to join the rest and wrenches his hand so that all three fingers hit that sensitive spot deep in his body all at once. Steve lets out a choked-off gasp as pleasure zings up his spine. Their combined girth feel almost as thick, but they’re fingers, and Steve knows the difference.

 

“Sir!” he sobs out. “Please, sir, please!”

 

“Please what?” Bucky snarls.

 

“Fuck me,” Steve begs, “fuck me, sir, please, come in me, make me a mess, sir, make me wetter, ruin me, _own me,_ sir –”

 

Bucky’s fingers yank free. Steve chokes on an inhale and sobs, straining to keep his arms locked above his head so he doesn’t break the weak knot of the tie, then Bucky's fingers squeeze on his throat and Steve stills, sucking in a new breath and schooling himself into patience.

 

“This what you want, slut?” Bucky growls.

 

Steve can only see his gleaming teeth, but the sound of a foil packet ripping open sends his heart beating to a new drumbeat that’s twice as fast and might have been worrying if he was in his right mind. Right now, Steve can only frantically nod and his chin hits Bucky’s hand every time he does.

 

“You want it so hard you can’t walk right for a week?” Bucky demands of Steve.

 

“Please, yes, yessir –” Steve starts.

 

“Beg me for it,” Bucky snaps, cutting Steve off. Steve feels an added weight between his spread legs that isn’t Bucky’s hand and he groans long and low, pressing back into it. “Beg, slut,” Bucky says again, harder this time and he squeezes his fingertips as he says it so Steve nearly chokes on a sob.

 

“Please, please,” Steve begs again, “please, I need it, sir, need you so bad.”

 

“You need me to own you, don’t you?” Bucky says.

 

“Yessir,” Steve chokes out. “Own me, sir, please!”

 

Bucky’s thumb pushes up under his jaw, making him tilt his head back and Steve loses sight of his gleaming gold tooth. His eyes strain to stay open, but he can’t focus on the ceiling. Bucky’s thumb retracts then and Steve jerks his gaze back to find Bucky’s teeth. They shine white, the only beacon of light in the periwinkle haze of a sunset in Manhattan. In that moment, Steve is convinced he's never seen anything more beautiful.

 

“You’re mine,” Bucky growls.

 

“Yours, sir,” Steve pants.

 

Bucky’s fingertips squeeze, not properly choking Steve, then Bucky's other hand grabs and holds tight to Steve's hip. Steve lets out another sob, straining to lift his hips up in search of the filling weight he wants.

 

“You belong to me, bitch,” Bucky says. His tone is dangerously quiet. “Understand?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve exhales.

 

The weight nudges against him and Steve breaks off in a moan. Bucky’s gold tooth flashes at him as he grins, then Steve’s eyes are rolling back in his head as his mouth falls open in a silent scream. Bucky could fuck him a thousand times and he’d never be used to how filling it felt.

 

“This is what you’re best at,” Bucky hisses in his ear. “Taking _my_ cock, baby boy. This is what you were fucking born for.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve slurs. Bucky’s hand is still held over his throat, not pressing but still pinning him down. All he can see is Bucky’s teeth.

 

“This is what you wanted,” Bucky says, then he draws back and slams back against him and Steve chokes on another sob. “You’re gonna feel this in a _week_ , little slut. You’re gonna wince sitting down and you’re gonna think about who you belong to.”

 

“Belong t’ you,” Steve gasps out. “ _Ah_ , sir!”

 

“That’s right,” Bucky murmurs in his ear. He’s giving Steve just what he wanted; an unforgiving, mercilessly rough pace that Steve is definitely going to be feeling in a few days. “I own you. You belong to me and me only. This –” he grunts it out as he slams into Steve’s sweet spot and sparks dance in his vision “– ass –” he hits it again and the sparks grow into fireflies “– belongs –” a third time, and the fireflies are taking up the full edges of his vision like a reverse vignette “– to me!”

 

“Yessir!” Steve sobs. “Yessir, sir, please –”

 

“You’re gonna come saying _yessir_ ,” Bucky growls. “You’re gonna come on my cock callin’ out for more like the slut you are, and you’re gonna keep takin’ it until I’m done with you whether you’ve come or not.”

 

“Yessir!”

 

“You’re _mine_ to do with what I please!”

 

“Sir, yessir, please, sir!”

 

“There’s a good slut,” Bucky coos, and Steve is so far gone he can’t tell if he’s mocking or praising. “Such a good little cumdump, you’re my bitch to fuck and come on whenever I want, aren’t you?”

 

“Yessir!”

 

“Say it,” Bucky spits out. Steve’s vision is filled with the fireflies and Bucky’s bared teeth, all he can feel is the pleasure spiking in his gut every time Bucky slams into him or his hand on his throat, all he can hear is Bucky’s voice growling in his ear; all he knows is Bucky. “Tell me what you are.”

 

“I’m your bitch,” Steve gasps, “I’m your whore, I’m your harlot, sir, I’m yours, sir!”

 

“Mine,” Bucky growls. “Mine and mine alone.”

 

“Never wan’ned anybody else t’ own me, promise, sir, I promise!”

 

“That’s ‘cause you were made to be mine,” Bucky snaps. “You were made to take my cock. And you take it so well, baby boy, you take it so perfect, fucking hell, you were made for me to pop your cherry over and over and over again.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Steve sobs.

 

“You wanna come?” Bucky asks roughly. “You wanna come on your sir’s cock? Show me how much you want it?”

 

“Yessir –”

 

“You want me to paint that pretty hole of yours,” Bucky spits out, “add some white to this red and blue?”

 

“Yessir, please, sir!”

 

“What’re you gonna say when you come?” Bucky demands. Steve can’t see a damn thing but Bucky's teeth, the flash of a golden fang gleaming in the white grin. “Who're you gonna scream for?”

 

“You, sir,” Steve whines out, “please, please let me come, sir –”

 

“Come,” Bucky orders.

 

“ _Sir!_ ” Steve cries out, just like he’d been told to. He hardly gets the word out, it’s cut out off by what’s practically a scream. The white of Bucky’s teeth fill Steve's vision totally and he loses track of all his other senses. All he can feel is Bucky’s hand at his throat.

 

Bucky’s hand at his throat brings Steve slowly back to awareness. Both of Bucky's hands are at Steve's throat now, gently stroking up and down with his thumbs like Bucky is following the current of air to and from Steve’s lungs.

 

“That’s it,” Bucky’s murmuring. “Look at you, you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

 

Steve is aware now that his eyes are closed and it’s why he can’t see. He’s also aware that they’re heavy and he doesn’t want to open them.

 

“You back with me yet, doll? You did so good; never came that hard in my life, sweet Omega.”

 

Steve smiles a little, purrs a little, too. He hears Bucky laugh and smiles a bit more.

 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Bucky says softly. “You’re so fucking sweet, you know that, right? You’re gorgeous.”

 

“Said that already,” Steve mumbles. He raises a hand and reaches out, searching for something he’s not sure, and Bucky lifts one of his to catch it. Bucky raises it to his lips and kisses it and Steve smiles again vaguely.

 

“It’s true,” Bucky tells Steve. “It begs repeating.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve sighs and Bucky kisses his palm. Then, because he wants more praise, he mumbles, “I did good?”

 

“Fuck yeah,” Bucky says in answer, “you did so good, gorgeous. You took it so pretty, so pretty, sweetheart. Perfect, Stevie.”

 

Steve hums like a purr, melting into the pillows under Bucky’s praise. He loves it.

 

“Can you sit up a bit for me?”

 

Steve lifts his other arm to fold beside him, lifting onto his elbow because his abs are sore, then Bucky’s wrapping an arm around his back and Steve just collapses into it. Bucky lets out a huff, surprise or laughter Steve can’t tell, nor does he care, and Bucky then lowers Steve back onto what feels like pillows so he assumes that’s what they are. He drops his arms above his head and leans back into them, comfortably dead-tired as well as sore as shit, and smiles.

 

“Drink,” Bucky says.

 

A glass presses to his lips. Steve parts them and takes whatever liquid it is into his mouth, swallows and accepts another gulp. Belatedly, he realizes that it’s water. Bucky takes the glass away and kisses his cheek and Steve turns his head, seeking a kiss to the mouth. Bucky chuckles, and again Steve doesn’t know if it’s praise or mocking and again he doesn’t care as long as Bucky kisses him. He does, and Steve sighs into it.

 

“Legs up,” Bucky says, and Steve lifts his knees. He winces, feeling the sting of fabric on his still burning ass, then the tight pull of now-dried lace.

 

Bucky’s fingers close on the sides of the panties, though, and he finally tugs them off of Steve’s legs. Steve relaxes against the pillows again, until Bucky’s hands press to his thighs. They’re strangely warm, as well as moist. Steve half lifts his head.

 

“Aloe,” Bucky says, and Steve relaxes again. Bucky massages the aloe into his thighs, then his ass. With his legs lifted, Bucky is able to get to every part of Steve he’d spanked red earlier.

 

Steve, by now, has gained enough brain power to register that Bucky is putting aloe on him, but not bruise-relieving cream. The thought that Bucky is letting him bruise, and he most likely will, makes him smile yet again.

 

He’ll feel this more than a week from now. Bruises can take up to a month to heal on his body.

 

Bucky kisses the inside of his knee, then runs his hands up to stroke Steve’s ribs. “How are you feeling?” he asks gently. Much more gentle than earlier, at least.

 

“Good,” Steve mumbles. “Owned.”

 

Bucky drops a kiss onto his sternum. “Good,” he repeats. “You are owned.”

 

Steve nods vaguely, grins just as absently. Bucky kisses up Steve's sternum to his neck, then lightly nudges his nose against the line of his throat. Steve lets his head fall back, hoping Bucky will take it as an invitation.

 

He does. Bucky nuzzles into his neck, properly scent-marking him, and even his hands come up to drag over Steve’s ribs and stomach and chest.

 

“You’re mine,” Bucky murmurs into Steve's neck. “Remember that.”

 

Steve nods again. Bucky kisses just under Steve's ear and reaches up to brush at his hair. Steve melts into the pillows.

 

“You feeling hungry at all?” Bucky asks. Steve shakes his head. “Thirsty?” Bucky adds.

 

Steve shakes his head again. “Dirty,” he mumbles.

 

“You want a shower?”

 

Steve thinks about the sheets, how he’s probably covered in come and slick and the sheets didn’t do nothing to get all nasty like that. He pouts, though, because he doesn’t want to move.

 

“Yes or no?” Bucky asks.

 

“Both,” Steve mutters petulantly.

 

“Both?” Bucky repeats and laughs. “How is it both?”

 

“Don’t wanna move,” Steve says. “Feel kinda gross.”

 

“Easy answer,” Bucky laughs. His arms fold under Steve’s back and knees, and then Steve is being lifted into the air. “Don’t move.”

 

“Excellent idea,” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s neck. “My plan all along.”

 

Bucky chuckles and Steve smiles against the line of his throat. He nudges at Bucky with his nose, almost scent-marking him but too lazy and boneless to do it right.

 

When Bucky lowers him down, Steve expects the marble bench in the shower. When he opens his eyes, he’s lying in a shallow marble basin and it’s an entirely different bathroom.

 

“You’ve got two bathrooms?” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky is kneeling outside the basin, fiddling with the nobs at the other end. Now that Steve looks, the basin is a hot tub, and he’s lying in the shallow end. It’s not even a bathroom, it’s a spa.

 

“Holy shit,” Steve mumbles.

 

“We’re on the roof,” Bucky says, looking back to the knobs. “It’s heated, before you worry.”

 

Steve shrugs and lies back on the marble. There’s a step going down next to him, then another, and the deepest end looks like it would go up to his chest. He looks in the other direction, and sees a full swimming pool and what might be a greenhouse. Actually, looking around, the greenhouse covers all of the spa-like space, which must account for the warmth in the air.

 

“Fuck,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky walks back over, then sits down next to Steve and pulls his head into his lap. Steve lets out a soft hum, noticing the sound of gushing water and not really caring. Bucky begins combing through his hair with gentle fingers.

 

“I’ll show you how to turn the tub on later,” Bucky says. “You can come up here any time you like, it’s part of my penthouse.”

 

“I’ve never had a pool,” Steve mumbles. He sees Bucky smile dryly. “Never even had an inflatable one. The Y had pools, then it got shut down.”

 

“I’ll restart it,” Bucky says, bending to kiss his forehead. Steve smiles.

 

“Philanthropist,” he says with difficulty.

 

“What?”

 

“You,” Steve mumbles tiredly. “Phil… Anthrop. Ist.”

 

Bucky snorts. “If you say so.”

 

“Omega’s always right,” Steve says, breaking halfway to yawn.

 

He can feel the approaching heat of the water now. He lets one hand fall to the side and it dips into the water, churning with what he expects is the pressure of the jets. It’s a hot tub, it must have jets.

 

“Wanna get in?” Bucky asks.

 

“Kinda dumbass question is that?” Steve mutters. “Duh.”

 

Bucky snorts again, then helps Steve to sit up and tugs him into his lap. There, Bucky stands up and carries Steve into the deep end of the hot tub before sitting down again, keeping him in his lap. Steve settles against his shoulder, warm and content and sleepy.

 

“You wanna talk about it?” Bucky murmurs.

 

“What?” Steve says, then yawns again.

 

“Scene,” Bucky answers. “Likes, dislikes?”

 

“Fucking excellent,” Steve says.

 

“I tied you up,” Bucky points out.

 

Steve snorts, then. “Hardly call it tying me up, didn’t even knot the tie.”

 

“Was it alright?” Bucky amends.

 

“Mhmm,” Steve mumbles. He'd loved it. “Liked… Control.”

 

“What, that I had it?”

 

Steve gives a nod and Bucky kisses his hair. “Got it,” he says. “You’re mine.”

 

Steve breaks into a smile and nods. “Yours,” he agrees vaguely. Bucky kisses his hair again. “Own me.”

 

“Damn right,” Bucky murmurs. “Mine to love on.”

 

Steve’s ears go hot, and it’s not the water. Bucky raises a hand to brush at his hair and the tip of his finger brushes the crest of Steve’s ear and he pauses to chuckle.

 

“Aw, Stevie, are you blushing?” Bucky coos. “Do you like me saying that you’re mine to adore?”

 

Steve ducks his head, grinning like a fool.

 

“You’re mine to have,” Bucky says. “Mine to have whenever I want and to please whenever I want. Don’t you forget it.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles into his neck.

 

Bucky kisses his hair, then adjusts Steve in his lap and kisses his bare shoulder. Steve lets out a happy hum as Bucky begins running his hands all over Steve's body, from his thighs to his ribs to his shoulders and back. Steve focuses on the smooth/rough contrast of Bucky's palms with his fingers, while the water slowly rises up to cover him. Bucky’s hands start to travel, not just petting his sides, to bring the water up over Steve's lap and inside his thighs. His fingers slip down the crack of his ass and Steve shivers.

 

“Shh,” Bucky coos in his ear. “Just water, sweetheart. Just getting you clean. That’s it, gorgeous.”

 

Steve shivers again anyway, the water’s hot but the hairs on his arms are rising. He stretches out his legs, unfolding them and leaning back on Bucky’s chest.

 

“What’chu doin’, doll?” Bucky chuckles.

 

“Nothin’,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky chuckles, runs his hand up Steve’s thigh to cup his hip. “You’re not gettin’ nothing more than petting, baby boy. You’re all wore out just like I said you’d be. Look,” he adds, and his hands shifts back between his thighs, “your little dick’s not gonna come back to life now.”

 

Steve shudders and lets out a low whine, but lies pliant in Bucky’s embrace.

 

“Here,” Bucky coos in his ear, then kisses his neck and his fingers start to slowly move, “I can try to get you hard again but you’re gonna fall asleep any second now.”

 

“Hnng,” Steve says intelligently. Bucky laughs at him softly.

 

“No more tonight,” Bucky murmurs, kissing his ear, and his hands return to spooning water over Steve’s body. “It’s late.”

 

“Up all night,” Steve mumbles. Then thinks of something else and adds in a snort: “To get Bucky.”

 

Bucky half groans, half laughs, and pinches under Steve’s thigh and he yelps before giggling. “You’re not gonna be up all night,” Bucky tells him. “We’re gonna sleep after we’re all clean, got it?”

 

“Fine,” Steve sighs. Bucky’s probably right, anyway. Steve wouldn’t be able to get hard again so quick, he’d need at least an hour and even then it would be difficult to finish. Still, he’ll pout about it. He drops against Bucky’s shoulder, letting his head fall back and shuts his eyes. Bucky kisses the hollow of his throat.

 

“Relax,” he murmurs. His words vibrate down into Steve’s chest, bringing to life the something in the back of his head that just purrs. “Just do what I tell you.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve says quietly. Bucky pecks his throat once more, then tilts his temple against Steve’s forehead and just holds him for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i hope you enjoyed this and that you'll leave me a comment or head over to chaos's tumblr and reblog her art. the next chapter will be up in a few hours hopefully and chapter thirteen will be up sometime this evening. ttyl._
> 
>  
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	12. drop before the fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _it is still my birthday. and this is about to happen._

##  _drop before the fall_

 

Bucky was right. Steve falls asleep like in the bath. He wakes next when Bucky lowers him into the bed and falls asleep again when he’s pulled flush against his firm chest and Bucky kisses his shoulder.

 

The next time Steve opens his eyes, there’s sunlight coming from one open curtain and the bed is cold. Steve tugs the blankets over his shoulder, then rolls over and buries his face in Bucky’s pillow. It’s stone cold and the Egyptian cotton has released almost all trace scent of Bucky it had collected during the night.

 

Steve sits up and rubs at his eyes, then swings the blankets off his legs and slips out of the bed. He doesn’t have pajamas on, but the faded Army shirt he’d been wearing the past few nights is on the dresser where his clothes from dinner had been. He pulls it on and since it falls halfway down his thighs, doesn’t bother looking for anything else. He pushes open the bedroom door and goes to Bucky’s office, expecting to see him sitting behind the mahogany desk with a cigar curling smoke hanging from his fingers.

 

The office is empty. Steve leans on the door a second, clenching his jaw while frustration and disappointment fight in his chest, then turns for the stairs and goes down them noisily.

 

The living room is empty. His bags sit in the foyer, the only figures beside the grand piano. Steve ducks into the kitchen and it’s empty. He stands in the sea of marble and gleaming steel for a second, looking around with an open mouth in disbelief.

 

Steve runs back up the stairs, snatches up his phone and checks it. Then he lets out a frustrated yell and throws it onto the bed.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_Left for work. Call me when you wake up._

_[7:53a.m.]_

 

Steve sucks in a trembling breath, then clutches to his temple and tries to inhale again without shuddering. He shakes his head, then flops onto the bed and picks up the phone again. It’s half past eleven. Steve glares at the time, then at Bucky’s text and his thumb hovers over the call button for a while.

 

He switches to Facetime. He dials _Sir_ and waits for it to connect and ring.

 

A minute goes by, then – _fucking finally_ – Bucky answers. He isn’t holding the phone, it’s clearly propped up on something and he’s typing on a computer.

 

“Morning,” he says.

 

“Why didn’t you wake me up before you left?” Steve demands.

 

“Tried,” Bucky says, still looking at the computer. Steve grits his teeth. “You told me to fuck off and let you sleep.”

 

“Asshole,” Steve grumbles.

 

Bucky barely glances at him, and Steve could strangle him if he were there. “Try harder next time!” he snaps at him.

 

Bucky turns away from the computer and frowns at Steve. “What’s the matter?” he asks.

 

Steve drops his chin into the blanket, glaring at the corner of the screen. “Nothin’,” he mumbles.

 

“Steve,” Bucky snaps. “Look at me.”

 

Steve glances up, then stubbornly looks at his thumb curled on the edge of his phone. He hears Bucky swear angrily under his breath and scowls at his thumb. “Don’t get mad at me,” Steve mutters. “I didn’t up and leave.”

 

“I’m not mad at you,” Bucky answers shortly. “We’re going to lunch.”

 

Steve flicks his gaze over, still scowling. “Don’t let me interrupt your work,” he says passive-aggressively. “You told me to call you.”

 

“Get dressed,” Bucky says anyway, snatching the phone and frowning at it, but not at Steve, like he had minimized the FaceTime window and was focusing on something else. “I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

 

“Don’t you have _work_ to do?” Steve retorts.

 

“Fuck, Steve, will you just listen to me!” Bucky snaps again. He gets up from his chair, grabbing his jacket and swinging it over his shoulder as he starts to walk and Steve whimpers just a little because he looks so damn good in a suit. “I’m coming to get you.”

 

“‘M fine,” Steve mutters.

 

“No, you’re fucking not,” Bucky growls. Steve ducks his head, hiding his face in the blanket with abrupt shame. “It’s subdrop, Stevie, alright, just get dressed and I’ll come get you.”

 

Steve sniffs into the blanket, then inhales again because if he breathes deep enough, he can smell sex and Bucky and it’s better than the tightness in his chest.

 

“Stay on the phone,” Bucky tells him.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve mutters. He means to complain and snipe more, but it’s become automatic to answer anything Bucky says in that sharp, demanding tone with _yes, sir._

 

“Your bags are in the foyer,” Bucky keeps talking, and the longer he talks, Steve does start to feel a bit better. “Wear something blue.”

 

Steve lifts his head from the blanket, props himself up on his elbows and pouts at the shaking image on his phone. Bucky’s not looking into it anymore, he’s holding it by his collar. Steve shakes his head, then pushes up off the bed and slips off it to leave the room again. He lets the phone hang by his side, knowing that if Bucky looks at it again, all he’ll see are Steve’s bare legs. He might even see up the long shirt Steve’s wearing. Steve angles the phone so he will.

 

But Bucky doesn’t say anything and Steve can’t know if he looked or not. In the foyer, Steve drops onto his ass on the marble and regrets it almost immediately; it’s fucking cold for one thing, for another, his ass feels like one giant bruise. He winces.

 

“What was the face for?” Bucky’s voice comes from his phone.

 

Sheepishly, Steve lifts it again to look into it and at Bucky’s frown. He opens his mouth but hesitates, then is struck dumb by the shy feeling. He’s shy. He hasn’t been shy about _anything_ since he was 18 years old, and here he is, shy about how his ass is sore and bruised because his sir spanked him and fucked him without mercy last night.

 

Steve swallows.

 

“What?” Bucky demands.

 

Steve looks down at his bags, because somehow that’s easier than actually looking at Bucky.

 

“Steve!” Bucky barks.

 

“My ass hurts,” Steve snaps at him. “Alright, my ass is sore, happy?”

 

“There’s bruise cream in the bathroom,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve glares at his bags and drops the phone a little less gently than he really should onto the floor. He still doesn’t have a case for it. He doesn’t want bruise cream, he doesn’t want it to not hurt, he wants Bucky’s gun-grip calloused palms spreading over his ass and the heat of his hands soothing the ache.

 

“Steve, be careful with the phone,” Bucky’s voice comes sharply from beside him.

 

Steve makes a petulant face and starts digging through his bags. _Wear something blue,_ Bucky had said. Steve grumbles under his breath about dumbass Alphas and tugs a pair of jeans and a blue sweater that actually belongs to Darcy from his bag. He gets out socks and underwear, figuring he’ll just wear his beat up Chucks once he finds them. He doesn’t know where Bucky is planning to take him to lunch and he doesn’t care. Then he stands up, pauses, and picks up the phone. Bucky meets his gaze and Steve looks away to set the phone on a pile of his clothes, propped up, and steps back.

 

He tugs the Army shirt, the only thing he’s wearing, over his head. He stands in plain view of the phone, but doesn’t look to see if Bucky is watching. Steve shakes out the boxers, then:

 

“Turn around,” Bucky says.

 

Steve stops, staring at the marble floor. His heart skips a beat in his chest and he shuffles in place to put his back to the phone.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky says, gentle, and Steve swallows despite his dry mouth. “Do you want the bruise cream? It’s just upstairs.”

 

“No,” Steve mutters.

 

“I didn’t hear that,” Bucky calls.

 

“No!” Steve repeats, louder, sharper.

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yes,” Steve snaps. He turns back around, bending to step into his boxers.

 

“Skip those,” Bucky says. Steve stops again. “Just the jeans.”

 

Steve inhales through his nose, swallows, then straightens up and tosses the boxers into his suitcase. He picks up the jeans instead. They hang loosely on his hips, the waist high on his stomach and they’re old, more cotton than denim, so they’re soft, and Steve wonders if Bucky could tell as he steps into them without any underwear. He wonders what Bucky’s agenda is here.

 

“Good,” Bucky offers gently, but Steve just rolls his eyes and snatches up his sweater. He tugs it over his head, grabs his phone and kicks his suitcase closed. Then he stalks over to the sofa and flops down onto it, wincing a little bit.

 

“Look at me,” Bucky orders, sounding somehow kind.

 

Steve rolls onto his front, holding the phone in front of him, and puts his face in his arms. He looks at the bottom corner of the phone.

 

“Go back upstairs,” Bucky says.

 

“Why?” Steve grumbles.

 

“Because I told you to,” Bucky says.

 

Steve shows him his middle finger, then drops the phone onto the carpet. He rolls over to face the couch, glaring at the leather.

 

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice reaches him.

 

“I’m going back upstairs,” Steve mutters.

 

“Go back upstairs and get back in bed,” Bucky tells him, kindly again. “Get back in my side of the bed.”

 

“Why?” Steve demands. He rolls over and peers over the edge of the sofa to glare at Bucky. “What good’ll that do?”

 

“It’s warm and it will smell like me,” Bucky explains slowly.

 

Steve glares at him for a while longer. Bucky has a point.

 

“Fine,” Steve snaps.

 

He grabs the phone and gets up from the couch, then stomps up the stairs and into Bucky’s bedroom. He bangs the door open so it hits the stop on the wall and bounces back behind him, strides up to the bed and flops down onto Bucky’s side of it. He curls up, instinctively pressing his face into Bucky’s pillow.

 

“Pull the blanket over you,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve sits up to grab the hem of the sheets and duvet, then yanks them over his shoulders and flops back onto Bucky’s pillow. When he looks back at his phone, he notices that Bucky’s in a car.

 

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Bucky says.

 

Steve blows out his breath and that’s all he does to respond. He shuts his eyes and curls his legs up toward his chest.

 

“We’re going to lunch and then we’re going to buy your collar,” Bucky tells Steve.

 

Steve jerks his eyes open and sits up.

 

“Lay down,” Bucky says quickly.

 

“What?” Steve says. He doesn’t lay down again.

 

“I’m going to buy you a collar,” Bucky says calmly. “And some chokers to wear out in public.”

 

Steve swallows, then rolls his tongue in his mouth to produce moisture and swallows again.

 

“There’s water on the nightstand,” Bucky says. “Drink it.”

 

Steve lowers the phone slowly, then turns and finds the glass of water on the night table. He picks it up and takes a long drink, draining it and putting it back down. He swallows spit again.

 

“Where do you want to go for lunch?” Bucky asks him.

 

“You’re seriously getting me a collar?” Steve mutters instead of answering him.

 

“Yeah, you wanted one,” Bucky says. Steve blinks, then shakes his head to clear it and lays down again, curling up to look into the phone. “Do you not want one?”

 

“I want one,” Steve mumbles quietly.

 

“Then you get one,” Bucky says, as if it’s as simple as that. Steve licks his lip, then bites it, looking more at the sheets than at his phone. “What’s worrying you?”

 

“Nothin’,” Steve says under his breath.

 

“Steve,” Bucky warns, “don’t lie to me.”

 

Steve shivers despite the blanket, burrows deeper into the warmth and faint scent of Bucky in the bed. “I don’t know,” he says instead of lying. He can’t look Bucky in the eye.

 

“How about those chokers, huh?” Bucky says gently. Steve shrugs a shoulder. “Your collar’s gonna say _property of James Barnes,_  but how about I get you some chokers with just my initials on ‘em? How’s that sound?”

 

Steve nods absently.

 

“Steve, I need you to be honest with me,” Bucky says gently. “Do you want a collar or not?”

 

“I want it,” Steve says again, quiet again, then shrugs again. “I didn’t think you meant it.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

 

Steve just shrugs. “Dunno.”

 

Bucky sighs and Steve sees him raise a hand to rub his eyes.

 

“The chokers, I’ll have to get ‘em custom made,” Bucky continues anyway. Steve gives a vague nod. “But I can get you a collar today. I’m taking the day off, we’ll get your collar and spend the rest of the day at home, alright?”

 

 _Home._ Steve buries himself deeper in the blankets, wondering when Bucky’s marble penthouse became _home._ Not just for him. He doesn’t think that Bucky really thought about the place he lived in as _home_ before. It didn’t seem like it. Didn’t look like it. It was just a place to sleep. When did it become _home_ for either of them?

 

“Movie marathon,” Bucky is saying. “Something with lots and lots of sequels. I’ll order pizza.”

 

“‘Kay,” Steve murmurs softly.

 

“Ten minutes, baby.”

 

Steve doesn’t respond. He puts the phone down on the mattress and hugs the blankets around his shoulders. He isn’t cold. He isn’t shivering or shaking or shocked. They smell like sex and Bucky.

 

“Hey, you like Star Trek or Star Wars better?”

 

“Lord of the Rings,” Steve answers faintly.

 

“Good answer, doll," Bucky praises. "Who’s your favorite character?”

 

“Aragorn,” Steve mutters.

 

“Not Boromir? Thought you were into scary motherfuckers.”

 

“Boromir’s brave,” Steve says. “Aragorn’s a good man.”

 

“I see.”

 

Steve picks up the phone again. “But Boromir’s prettier,” he says and Bucky smiles at him.

 

“They’d make a good pair,” Bucky offered. Steve nods vaguely again. “We’ll watch Lord of the Rings, honey. All of ‘em, extended version, and the Hobbit movies, too, if you want. And I’ll buy some ice cream or something.”

 

“Cheesecake,” Steve says immediately.

 

Bucky laughs and nods. “We’ll get anything you want,” he says. “I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

 

“You don’t have to take the day off for me,” Steve mumbles then. “I’m fine.”

 

“I call bullshit,” Bucky says simply. Steve rolls his eyes. “No, I call bullshit and it’s my fault, so, yeah, I have to do whatever’s necessary to take care of you. I shouldn’t have let you wake up alone. I’m sorry.”

 

Steve dropped his gaze back to the mattress again. “Whatever,” he mutters.

 

“I’m serious, Steve.”

 

“Whatever,” Steve repeats sharply.

 

“Steve.”

 

Steve lifts his face from the pillow, shuffles in the bed so he’s holding the phone over the pillow and can only look at Bucky with one eye.

 

“I’m serious,” Bucky insists. “I’m sorry I let you wake up alone. I knew better and I let work take priority over you. I’m sorry.”

 

Steve doesn’t answer at all this time. He shuts his eyes and hides his face from the phone camera, not wanting to look at Bucky anymore. He knows it’s not Bucky’s fucking fault if Steve feels shitty, but at the same time he wants to spit in Bucky’s face _if you knew better, why did you do it?!_

 

And still, he doesn’t want to risk the teeth at his throat turning angry instead of hungry. So he doesn’t answer.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says yet again.

 

“I heard you,” Steve grumbles.

 

“I mean it,” Bucky says.

 

Steve wants to throw his phone across the room if it’ll make Bucky stop fucking apologizing. His thumb hovers over the _end call_ button.

 

“I’ll be there in five minutes, Stevie,” Bucky says.

 

Steve drops the phone onto the pillow. He curls against the blankets, like the phone is Bucky’s body not just his voice.

 

“What do you want for lunch?” Bucky asks him.

 

“Nothing,” Steve mutters quietly. He doesn’t want to eat. He feels a bit nauseous.

 

“Nothing? C’mon, Steve, you gotta eat something.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Steve says under his breath.

 

Bucky goes silent. Darcy would probably flip if she had just heard him, and honestly, it should scare Steve how much he hates the idea of putting food in his mouth right now, but it doesn’t. He already feels shitty, what’s one more thing to add to the mess that is Steve Rogers?

 

“Steve?” Bucky asks gently.

 

“What?” Steve sighs out.

 

“Are you – Why don’t you want lunch?”

 

Steve, impulsively, picks up the phone and presses the _end call_ button. He regrets it almost immediately, but shoves the phone onto the floor and rolls over to face the other side of the room. He hears it ringing. He hears it vibrating on the rug, he can almost feel the tremors it sends through the floor and into the bed. He ignores it.

 

Steve ignores the thoughts starting and stopping in his head. He pushes them away before they can get to more than one or two words. The phone stops ringing, then starts again. It starts and stops. Ringing to voicemail and ringing again. Steve ignores it.

 

The bedroom door bangs open. Steve jerks up, and Bucky drops onto the mattress without a greeting, grabbing him and hauling him up into his grip. Steve lets out an _oof_ but Bucky squeezes him into his chest.

 

“Answer. Your. _Fucking_ phone,” Bucky growls into his ear.

 

“Fuck off,” Steve grumbles.

 

Bucky falls onto his ass, pulling Steve and the blankets with him as he does. His arms are locked around Steve’s body, such that there would be no chance of Steve breaking free if he wanted to. Steve doesn’t want to. He starts out stiff, but slowly goes limp in Bucky's encompassing grip.

 

“Never hang up on me again,” Bucky hisses. “You hear me? Don’t you dare hang up on me like that, don’t you dare ignore me calling you. Understand?”

 

“Fine,” Steve snaps. “Whatever.”

 

“I’m _fucking_ serious, Steve.”

 

“Fine!” Steve repeats sharply; he lashes out and pounds a fist into his chest, but Bucky only tightens his grip. “Don’t leave me alone like that again!” he spits.

 

He hadn’t meant to say that. It had slipped out. Steve hides his face in Bucky’s shirt, squeezing his eyes shut and berating himself silently.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says again.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve growls.

 

Bucky’s hands slip up Steve's sweater, gun-grip calluses press to his ribs. His hands search, or pet, or mark, Steve doesn’t know or care. He’ll find the unnatural crook in his spine. Bucky's fingers slip down Steve’s spine, curve and curve back with the bend. Steve inhales. He just inhales and exhales for a while. Bucky’s hands press all over his body.

 

“New rule,” Bucky says softly in his ear. “We eat breakfast together every day we can. And you never hang up on me. Deal?”

 

Steve wants to protest to _eating_ but knows he shouldn’t. Now that Bucky’s there, it’s easier to lump all the blame on him for letting Steve wake up alone after falling asleep in subspace, it’s easier to blame whatever subdrop is and the bruises on his ass. But, dammit, wherever the blame lies, Steve’s gonna have to go back to see Dr. Madini.

 

Steve sucks a breath in, raises a hand and wipes at his nose. Bucky, going gentle again, kisses the top of his head and Steve squirms in his grip until his back is pressed to Bucky’s front.

 

Bucky’s palms splay over Steve's torso, one on his stomach and the other on his chest. He cradles Steve between his thighs, and cradle is the correct word; Steve abruptly finds his breath catching in his throat because Bucky is holding him like he’s precious to _him_ and Steve doesn’t understand what’s happening. He isn’t precious. He’s no one special. He does not understand why Barnes would hold him like he is. He looks at their legs tangled together and his gaze slips to Bucky’s polished shoes.

 

“Get your shoes off our bed,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky’s head tucks against Steve's temple, like he’s looking down at him. Steve stares at Bucky’s shoes. This is his bed, too, now. He doesn’t want Bucky’s shoes on it.

 

Bucky lifts his feet and toes off the shoes, then kicks them off their bed. It’s their bed. Steve has fallen into James Barnes’ bed and now it is his, too, whether it was his intention to think that way or not. This is where he belongs. Not just sitting in his shadow, but held, tucked in Barnes’s grip like a prized and treasured possession.

 

Steve looks now at Bucky’s socks, the way his toes are blunt and the middle one is longer than the first and the socks are a boring navy blue. He wonders how it got to this. He meant to wrap Barnes around his finger, and here he is wrapped in Bucky’s arms. He meant to insert himself in Barnes’s shadow, so he saw him every time he turned around and never got tired of seeing Steve bare his throat. He never meant for Bucky to worry that he doesn’t want to eat and leave work because he’s dropping from waking up alone after a scene. That’s dangerously close to something serious, the room for something more Steve implied that there _could_ be, and this was just meant to be an opportunity, security.

 

This is dangerously close to legitimate care. To actual emotions. None of this resembles the realm of seduction Steve is used to and comfortable in. It’s a far different level on the hierarchy of needs and Steve finds himself catching his breath with the altitude. This is a slippery slope that can lead to falling in love, and it is much too soon for Steve to realize that.

 

“What foods are easier for you to eat?” Bucky asks quietly.

 

Steve stares at his toes. He never meant for Barnes to be concerned about making him comfortable.

 

“Stuff I can cut up small,” Steve mumbles. He never meant for Barnes to be _concerned_ for him _at all._ “Nothing on bread. Pasta’s alright.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky murmurs. He kisses Steve’s cheek, with gentle affection that’s so far from the realm of lust Steve had meant to build the foundations of their symbiosis. “Does eating in public make it hard? Would you rather stay here?”

 

Steve shakes his head. Darcy once told him she couldn’t eat out for months, but being in restaurants didn’t bother him much as long as he could use a fork and knife to make the bites small. Eating alone was shit, when he could hear himself or others chewing, that made his stomach churn and his brain refused to let his jaw unclench, but restaurants were noisy, or there was always music playing, and that wasn’t so bad.

 

“Cheese is gross,” Steve mumbles. 

 

“No mac’n’cheese,” Bucky says. “I know just the place, alright?”

 

Steve gives a nod. Bucky kisses his cheek again, then shifts behind him to get up. Steve slips forward, then off the bed, and Bucky picks up his shoes again. Steve bends down to pick up his phone, then looks around the bedroom, looking at Bucky’s things and wondering at what point either of them began to think of this place as _their_ home. The bedroom is sparse and undecorated. Steve realizes that he doesn’t know where his Chucks are. He took them off yesterday in the car, but he doesn’t think Bucky brought them in.

 

“Where’re my shoes?” Steve mumbles to Bucky.

 

“Which ones?” Bucky asks. He brushes out the creases in his suit, then takes Steve’s hand. Steve stares at their joined fingers for a minute.

 

“The ones I was wearing before dinner yesterday,” he says quietly.

 

“They’re still in the car,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve nods. He’ll put on different ones.

 

“C’mon,” Bucky prompts, tugging on his hand. Steve follows him out of their bedroom. He looks at the walls and the empty corners, then glances once over his shoulder at their bedroom and thinks it’s hardly lived in yet. He has a string of lights that he put up over his bed for Christmas a few years ago and never took down.

 

“Can I put string lights on our headboard?” Steve asks.

 

“Sure,” Bucky answers easily.

 

Steve looks back at their hands, intertwined. His slots into Bucky’s palm perfectly. He hadn’t expected that.

 

They reach the foyer and Bucky pauses, then Steve remembers that he still needs shoes and lets go of Bucky’s hand to go digging through his bags. He finds a pair of slip-ons, knock-off Vans he bought at Wal-Mart years ago that hardly hold themselves together anymore, and tugs them on over his socks.

 

“We’re not going anywhere fancy, are we?” Steve asks gruffly, now giving a shit if he’ll stand out because he’s underdressed.

 

“Nah,” Bucky answers, stepping nearer. Steve looks up and Bucky takes his hand again. “Ma and Pop diner downtown. Ready?”

 

Steve nods. He’ll check with Dr. Madini’s office tomorrow, when Bucky’s back at work. He has to talk to her about more than his abrupt relapse into detesting eating again.

 

He’ll have to talk with her about this slippery slope. His palm sits perfectly in Bucky’s hand. That was _never_ Steve’s intention.

 

In the elevator, Bucky gives the operator directions to take them to the ground floor and Steve stands there, frowning at their reflection rather than at their joined hands like he wants to. He wants to frown at them, he’s confused by the way they fit so easily, but he doesn’t want Bucky to let go.

 

Bucky squeezes his hand. Steve sucks in a breath, frowning at the polished brass doors. Bucky takes out his phone, and Steve blinks at their reflections. He takes a moment to look at himself; his hair needs washing, still.

 

And thinking of washing his hair, Steve thinks that Bucky would be willing to wash it for him. And he thinks about why it feels so wonderful to let Bucky wash or pet or brush his hair, when there’s nothing sexual about it. It doesn’t fit into Steve’s plan to seduce James Barnes until he can rest comfortably and seductive in his ease in Barnes’s shadow like he belongs _there,_ when really it feels more like he belongs standing in the light with his hand held tenderly in Bucky’s.

 

When Bucky had mentioned buying him a collar, Steve thought he was just running his mouth off. Like the idea of taking Steve to work and keeping him under his desk to keep his cock warm, Steve assumed Bucky was all talk, looking to arouse them both, he hadn’t thought it was serious. But that he was, and the idea that Bucky wants to buy him a collar for sex and a collar for _daily_ wear, one that isn’t so obviously sexual and is closer to a gift between lovers than sir and sub; that has blown Steve’s mind. He hadn’t dreamed Bucky might mean something like that. A necklace with his initials, Bucky may as well drape his old dog tags from the army over Steve’s neck and call him his boyfriend, not his bitch.

 

Steve isn’t used to casual human affection with no ulterior motive like this, and it scares him how much he wants it.

 

The elevator doors part. Bucky strides forward, putting his phone away and Steve follows just behind him, watching Bucky with a new fascination. What else that Steve didn’t plan for should he start to anticipate? What else should he brace himself for? Will Bucky insist Steve go back to school not because he’ll need a crutch to fall on when Bucky’s tired of him, but because he wants Steve to have a passion besides him? Will Bucky want to hear about his sessions with Dr. Madini, and actually listen to anything Steve is comfortable telling him? Will Bucky jump ahead of his plots and ask Steve to be truly his Omega before Steve can pseudo-shyly suggest marriage?

 

Will Bucky want to bond with him? No – and this scares him more –, will _Steve_ find himself wishing for a bond?

 

The car is waiting. Bucky opens the door and looks to Steve, who crawls in first as always and sits in the middle while Bucky gets in beside him, shuts the door sharply and drapes an arm over Steve’s shoulders. Steve isn’t even sitting with an inviting posture, he’s hunched forward and his hands are shoved under his knees and he’s frowning at the floor, but Bucky throws an arm around him and draws him closer anyway.

 

“Adrianna’s,” Bucky tells the driver. Steve assumes it’s Luke, but doesn’t lift his gaze to find out.

 

The car pulls from the garage. Steve finds himself looking out the window, lost in a spiral of existential questions on the nature of love and the differences between it and lust, and Bucky never demands his attention. Bucky has never demanded his attention. Bucky has only ever taken what Steve has given him, and it’s then that Steve realizes that he unwittingly gave Bucky something more than lust the second he got upset with Bucky for working too much not because it distracted his attention from _Steve,_ but because it was late and no one should ever work that much.

 

This is so much more than Steve planned for. And, sure, he’d admitted already that there was room for more than just lust between him and Bucky, but he meant a few years down the line; five, ten, no less! He meant a long time from _right now,_ when Steve had only met Barnes hardly a month ago. He’s in over his head and it’s getting hard to breathe.

 

“Are you alright?” Bucky murmurs quietly in his ear.

 

“Sure,” Steve offers. No way he’s going to admit now that there’s room for more than just lust _right now._ This is one four-letter word he isn’t willing to use.

 

Bucky somehow manages to draw him nearer. His lips come to brush over the crest of Steve’s ear and he says in a soft voice: “You’re all spacey. What’s up?”

 

“Thinking,” Steve says.

 

“What about?”

 

Steve just shrugs. He can’t admit to Bucky that he’s rapidly and alarmingly falling for him or that it’s thrown his whole scheme out of whack or that he really loves Bucky holding his hand.

 

Bucky nudges him gently and Steve shrugs. He shuts his eyes, draws his legs up onto the bench and turns into Bucky’s side. He feigns tiredness and nuzzles his face against Bucky’s shoulder, exhaling deeply like it’s a content sigh when really he’s trying not to hyperventilate.

 

Barnes is, by no means, a fool. But Steve has been feigning all sorts of things from calm to honesty to orgasms since he was a kid and even if Bucky’s casual and non-sexual affection has slipped past Steve’s guard, it’s not enough to throw his acting skills out of order.

 

Besides, Bucky has barely known him three weeks. Even the best take time to learn tells. Steve feigns tiredness and Bucky kisses his hair, rubs his shoulder, and lets him.

 

“You’re alright,” Bucky murmurs into his hair. “You’re mine.”

 

Steve just nods, his jaw tight. He knows who he belongs to. He wanted this. It’s fucking terrifying.

 

“You’re mine,” Bucky repeats softly. “Mine to take care of, right, honey?”

 

Steve just nods. He wants this. It’s terrifying.

 

“Mine to lavish and praise,” Bucky says. Steve remembers asking for that. “Mine to ravish and adore.”

 

Ravish? Fine. But _adore?_ It’s a word one uses for lovers, not harlots. It was intoxicating while Steve was floating on the high of subspace, but fucking terrifying now that he's sober.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky tells him. “You’re gorgeous. I knew I had to make you mine the second I laid eyes on you, doll. You’re a spitfire, Stevie, the minute you talked back to me in that warehouse, knowin’ full well who I was and what I could do and not caring, baby, you had me hooked right there, right then.”

 

 _Fuck,_ Steve thinks vaguely. Bucky isn’t talking about lust.

 

“And, doll, when you sat on my lap like you did?” Bucky whispers. “When you sucked on my thumb like you was thirsting for my cock already, Stevie, you had me ready to throw you over my shoulder and just walk out with you.”

 

“I was just trying to piss off Rumlow,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky laughs into his hair. “Even better,” he says. “Honey, your mouth is heaven half-assing the job.”

 

Steve curls a little tighter into Bucky’s side. Once, he was desperate to hear Bucky’s dripping chocolate voice calling him _cockslut_ and now he’s anxious to hear Bucky murmuring _honey_ into his hair.

 

“I knew I wanted you before I met you,” Bucky says. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, remembering Bucky casually saying _I’ve heard of him._ Where did Bucky hear of him, he wonders. When? _Why him?_

 

“I saw you on a street corner,” Bucky murmurs then. “You was having a screaming match with some skinhead and I knew I wanted you to be mine.”

 

“When?” Steve demands hoarsely. _When!_ When did Barnes see him, and why did he want _him?_

 

Why would Barnes want him because he was fighting with someone? No one ever really wanted _him,_ not the way Barnes is implying, and especially not after knowing how volatile his temper was. Men want his ass and his sharp collarbones, men want him because he’s new and different and a novelty fuck they can laugh about later in locker rooms, this isn’t why Barnes wants him? _Why him?_

 

“March,” Bucky says. Steve stuffs a fist in his mouth, trying to control his breathing. “Year ago.”

 

Steve yanks his fist free. “ _2016_ March?” he repeats.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky admits, almost laughing as he kisses the top of his head again. “Took me a while to find you.”

 

This is so much more than what Steve had planned for and it’s equal parts thrilling and shocking. Steve presses his fist into his mouth so he can’t make noise. Bucky spent a whole _year_ and more looking to find _Steve_ because one glance at him standing on a street corner convinced him that Steve was worth not only his attention, but his affection, too.

 

Is he dreaming?

 

“I knew your reputation, but, doll, _meeting_ you,” Bucky murmurs, either oblivious to Steve’s crisis or in spite of it, “you had me on lock, the second you refused to bow.”

 

Steve had thought perhaps it had been the way he dragged his tongue piercing over Barnes’s thumb or the way he relaxed on his lap or maybe even how he looked wearing his jacket; he had thought that it had been something he’d done on purpose, but it was his defiance to stand firm while everyone else cowered at James Barnes’ presence? His fucking _stubbornness?_

 

“How pretty you are with somethin’ in your mouth,” Bucky purrs, “that was the cherry on top, honey.”

 

“I don’t get you,” Steve admits.

 

“That’s okay,” Bucky says. “You’re still mine.”

 

“I don’t get it,” Steve insists. He sits up a little, but can’t bring himself to actually look at Bucky. “We – It’s been only a few weeks?”

 

“What’d’you mean?” Bucky prompts.

 

Steve stops, licking his lips while he thinks. He notices that the partition is closed, and at least that adds some privacy to the conversation.

 

“We’re doing things backwards,” he says quietly.

 

“Do you want to change how we do things?” Bucky suggests carefully.

 

“No!” Steve says hastily. He drops back against Bucky’s shoulder, shaking his head. “No, I like having sex with you too much.” He pauses to laugh a little, to flick his gaze up and see Bucky smiling at him. “But…”

 

“What?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve swallows. He shouldn’t say. It would only put him further down the dangerous slope.

 

“Nothing,” he murmurs.

 

“No, tell me,” Bucky says, and Steve sighs.

 

“I like you,” he mutters.

 

Bucky laughs, squeezing his shoulders. “Is that all?” he says, and Steve pretends to punch him in the ribs.

 

“I’m serious!” Steve confesses. “I’m – I actually like you and –”

 

He breaks off, looking down. Bucky smiles at him and tucks a hand under his jaw to lift his gaze back up.

 

“I like you, too, Stevie,” he says easily. Steve flushes and Bucky chuckles, he lets go of his jaw and reaches up to brush at his hair. “Kinda my point here.”

 

Steve makes a face at him. “I’m trying to be an adult here,” he says.

 

“Oh, okay,” Bucky laughs. “G’ahead, hon. Use your adulting skills on me.”

 

Steve punches him again, with only a little bit more force, and Bucky laughs. He grabs Steve’s hands with both of his and tugs him in to plant a kiss on his mouth.

 

“Fuck you,” Steve grumbles against his lips.

 

“Eh, if you really wanna try topping,” Bucky says with a shrug. Steve snorts and falls against his shoulder. “Look, I’m not makin’ small of you sayin’ you like me. I’m glad, Stevie, I just already knew. Wasn’t hard to tell, honey.”

 

Steve’s smile slips. This is the adult part of what he has to say, and it’s the dangerous thing that he really should keep to himself.

 

But something about Bucky has been dragging out the repressed parts of him that have been starved for love since his mother died, and she’d be rolling in her grave if she knew he was really taking advantage of a man falling for him like this. It’s worse than preying on a lonely man.

 

“I like you now,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Now?” Bucky repeats. He sounds confused.

 

“I like you _now,_ ” Steve affirms. “But I wanted you to think that I was smitten earlier, even though I wasn’t.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky says. Steve can’t read his voice. “Like… how you knew I was lonely?”

 

Steve nods. “‘Cause I knew.”

 

“Alright,” Bucky murmurs. “So…”

 

“So I actually really like you, and I don’t know how to,” Steve says in a rushed confession. “And I know you said you wanted a real relationship with real communication and you wanted it to be with me – And at first I just wanted to make you want to keep me, but now –”

 

Steve breaks off a third time. Bucky’s hand slips under his sweater and curls around his hip.

 

“I don’t know how to be honest anymore,” Steve murmurs. “All I know is how to trick people.”

 

“So you’re saying you _want_ to be honest with me?” Bucky asks gently.

 

“I do,” Steve mutters. “But… I don’t know how, and I’m afraid of it.”

 

“Of being honest?”

 

Bucky sounds confused. Steve shakes his head.

 

“Of being close,” he says. “To anyone. My best friend in the world is Darcy and she hardly knows anything about my past. The deepest secret I ever told her was that I dropped out of high school to work full time. I –” his voice speeds up, trying to get the words out faster before he can get wise and shut up “– I never even told anybody but my shrink about the foster system, but I didn’t even question telling you? Now you’ve wanted me for over a year and you want me for more than sex?”

 

Steve pauses, to inhale and swallow and look at his hands. Now _he_ wants Bucky for more than sex. That’s why he feels like he can’t breathe. He’s falling in – He can’t even say it to himself. Bucky just waits for him to finish.

 

Steve shrugs slightly. “That’s what scares me.” He’s trying to be honest and he’s still only giving out partial truths. _Love_ is the only four letter word he’s unwilling to say.

 

Bucky kisses his hair, and even though his affection is frightening in his head, Steve’s body relaxes for it.

 

“If I only wanted sex from you,” Bucky murmurs, “I would have stopped at that street corner and hired you over a year ago.”

 

Steve nods sharply. Of course. Of course Bucky always wanted what Steve didn’t know how to give. Of course Bucky wants it, and of course Steve wants to give it.

 

“I don’t know how to reciprocate that,” he says, because he doesn’t. “It’s been a long time since anyone has ever actually wanted me. In fact, I don’t think anyone ever has.”

 

“What about Darcy?” Bucky prompts. “You’re best friends, you know how to reciprocate that.”

 

Steve shakes his head. “That’s different.”

 

“Not that much,” Bucky says. Steve looks up, frowning. Bucky smiles at him and kisses his cheek, then squeezes his waist. “Hey, you hang out and have fun together. It’ll be the same with me, only I’ll randomly kiss you and fuck you.”

 

“I've had sex with Darcy,” Steve mutters. “But it was for a client.”

 

“Well, it'll only be a bit different then,” Bucky laughs.

 

Steve gives him as much of an honest smile as he can manage, because that’s not quite true and they know it. Sure, Steve knows he loves Darcy, he loves her easily and honestly like a sister, but there’s plenty of room for secrets and lies between siblings. Not between lovers. Secrets and lies are too much water in a concrete foundation, as between lovers the relationship is a home, and a weak foundation makes for a relationship that will just fall apart. Siblings and friends may be tied together, but lovers are bound.

 

There’s room for bonding between lovers. Darcy is perfectly aware that there are things she doesn’t know and never will about him, just like Steve is perfectly aware that there are things he doesn’t know about Darcy. Steve has already told Bucky his worst secret, and by happenstance and a guess, he knows Bucky’s darkest secret.

 

Hell, Bucky might have even admitted to a secret darker than just a past relationship; Steve doesn’t know if Aleksei Seyrbakov Junior was an Alpha or a Beta, but he certainly wasn’t an Omega.

 

“You’ll figure it out,” Bucky says simply. He picks up Steve’s left hand and laces their fingers together, and Steve looks at their intertwined hands with hesitance. “Hey, I don’t mind,” Bucky insists. “You’re still mine.”

 

Maybe Bucky doesn’t quite understand. Steve exhales slowly. He doesn’t even fully understand. But his plot to seduce and continue seducing James Barnes for the rest of his miserable existence on this unforgiving Earth has been flipped on its head. This isn’t a game of lust anymore. He doesn’t know how to manipulate someone into falling in love with him, nor is he willing to.

 

That leaves his future full of questions. Unfortunately, whether Steve still wants his future to be James Barnes is not one of the uncertainties. That’s what frightens him.

 

Because now that he doesn’t know how to guarantee it, now he could lose it.

 

Bucky kisses his hair. He can’t understand fully what Steve is thinking, what he has been thinking, but he keeps holding onto him and being affectionate in ways that aren’t based in lust and smiling at him like he’s just cute, and Steve falls back on old habits. He feigns tiredness and hides his face, and Bucky doesn’t understand enough about him to stop it.

 

“Still mine,” Bucky murmurs into his hair. “We got time to figure stuff out.”

 

The car shifts into park. Steve lifts his head, sucks in a deep breath and pushes his fingers through his hair roughly. It needs washing. He doesn’t quite get how Bucky can continually kiss and murmur into it when it’s nasty like this. The brass of the elevator doors discolored his reflection, but he expects he looks tired and pale.

 

Bucky’s arm curls around his waist and tugs him back into him, then he plants a loud kiss on his cheek.

 

“C’mon,” he says, letting go and opening his door while Steve touches his cheek. “Pablo and Adrianna have the best spaghetti bolognese this side of Manhattan.”

 

Steve slips out of the car behind him. Bucky takes his hand even though Steve doesn’t reach for him. The usual armed suits, Hunter and Luke, stand on the curb.

 

“Go on, then,” Bucky snaps at them.

 

Now that he isn't talking to Steve, he's sharp again. Steve steps closer to him and curls his other arm, still holding his hand, around Bucky’s elbow and leans his temple against his shoulder. Maybe he’s being melodramatic. Maybe he’s still acting immature, questioning the maybe of a future that maybe he doesn’t deserve. Maybe he needs to learn how to live in the now more.

 

Bucky briefly squeezes his hand. Hunter and Luke raise their neighboring fists, shake them three times, and Hunter makes scissors with his fingers while Luke lays his hand flat. Luke hisses in defeat while Hunter smirks, and Luke strides up to the restaurant. Steve sees Bucky roll his eyes.

 

“Morons,” he complains under his breath. Hunter continues to smile.

 

Luke sticks his head back out and gives them an _okay_ sign. Steve absently wonders at what point in time and who decided that making an _O_ with the thumb and forefinger and holding up the other three fingers became a symbol for _okay._

 

“Come on then,” Bucky says.

 

Steve stays attached to his arm and Bucky doesn’t seem about to protest as they walk up to the restaurant and Hunter follows behind them. They don’t wait for a hostess, Bucky walks towards a corner booth in the back, the suits framing his path front and back and Steve hanging off his arm like he’s dizzy or drunk. Steve, clinging pitifully to his arm like he’s already afraid of losing him. Steve, probably looking like the molested street kid he really is. Steve, acting like a child as he holds onto his Alpha.

 

It’s strange to think, but that’s what’s happening. James Barnes is becoming his Alpha. No, _Bucky_ Barnes is becoming his Alpha. There’s a difference, and Steve is definitely being melodramatic.

 

Bucky drops into the corner booth first, then pulls on Steve’s hand until he slips in beside him and proceeds to wrap his arm around his shoulders. Under his arm, Steve slouches, leaning against his shoulder. He feels fairly pathetic still and it’s easier to indulge in it and cling to Bucky. Clearly, his patheticness or clinginess doesn’t deter Bucky, as he only kisses Steve's nasty hair again.

 

Hunter and Luke sit in the booth as well, one on each end. A waitress walks up and puts four cups of coffee on the table, smiles briefly, and walks away. Steve takes one and hugs it to leech off its warmth.

 

He ends up watching the coffees while they wait for someone to bring them menus or take their orders, whatever they’re waiting for. Luke dumps cream but not sugar into his coffee. Hunter puts one pack of Sweet’N’Low in his, and then drinks it black. Bucky puts three creams and four sugars in his. Steve sips his coffee and deems it acceptable the way it is. It’s bitter and bland and tastes like the coffee he always got out of his coffee maker at home.

 

A heavyset woman with flyaway gray hair tied into a bun approaches the table. “Yasha!” she says happily, and Steve wonders if all Bucky’s work contacts call him something different. “You miss supper Sunday,” the woman says. “Where you have been?”

 

“Busy,” Bucky answers with a tight smile. "Sorry."

 

The woman stops in front of their table, then she seems to notice Steve hugging Bucky’s arm for the first time, because her mouth splits in a wide grin and she looks at Bucky with something that is clearly impressed in her eyes. Steve, had he not been feeling like a complete tool and pathetic on top of that, would have been pleased.

 

“Yasha, cine este aceasta?” she says. “Foarte frumos băiat. Sunteți împreună?”

 

“This is Steve,” Bucky says, and now Steve wishes he knew Russian, or whatever language the woman is now speaking, because it doesn’t sound quite like Russian. “And yes.”

 

The woman beams at Steve, and he, having forgotten what it was like when his mother smiled at him, shrinks a little bit from her maternal gaze.

 

“Hi,” he says quietly.

 

Bucky must notice that Steve is not a shy person, but that he is being shy now, and, bless him, says nothing of it. He squeezes Steve’s hand under the table and does nothing more than that.

 

“Hello,” the woman says, her voice remarkably kind. “I am very pleased to meet you, Steve.” She says his name with heavy emphasis on the _V,_ so it comes out as _Stee-vuh._ “Yasha has never brought a love to meet us before.”

 

“Boyfriend,” Bucky corrects her English even while Steve feels his ears turn bright red.

 

“Boyfriend,” the woman repeats, nodding and smiling. Steve glances at Bucky out of the corner of his eye, because he thought Bucky didn’t have parents?

 

“Steve, this is Adrianna,” Bucky says to him. “She and her husband, Pablo, own this place. They helped me get into the Army.”

 

Like he says little for Steve’s shyness, Bucky says little else for Adrianna and Pablo, though Steve can only guess the closeness between them. Adrianna looks at Bucky like Steve thinks his own mother might have looked at him once, a long time ago before her weak immune system turned on her. It’s not hard to tell, at least.

 

“Yasha is like son,” Adrianna says proudly. “We are very proud.”

 

Steve just nods. Is she proud of the Seyrbakov family, or just Bucky? He wonders if she knows, but then, she must.

 

“Where is Pablo?” Bucky asks her.

 

“He is with Maria,” Adrianna says. Bucky gives an understanding nod. “She is doing much better.”

 

Adrianna then smiles and bows a little toward Bucky, a grateful gesture. “She sends her thanks that you paid hospital bill.”

 

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Bucky answers. Steve, to himself, thinks that hospital bills are always a big deal. “How’s Sasha holding up?”

 

Adrianna’s gaze turns scolding. “You would know if you visited him more often,” she says with a a wag of her finger.

 

“I saw him last Sunday!” Bucky says defensively. Steve turns his gaze to the side, abruptly wanting to know who Sasha is.

 

“You come to supper more, you see him then,” Adrianna continues to say sternly.

 

Steve looks fully at Bucky, eyebrows tight together, but Bucky is looking at Adrianna still and shrugging.

 

“I was with Steve,” he says, squeezing Steve’s shoulders as he says it. “He had a rough weekend.”

 

Adrianna’s expression turns sympathetic and she looks at Steve. “Oh, rățușcă, I hope you’re feeling better.”

 

Steve nods vaguely. His weekend was actually fairly average. He didn’t actually get raped, only came close. That happens all the time, to more Omegas than just him.

 

Right now, he wants to know who Maria and Sasha are. And what _ratusca_ means.

 

“Pablo will be back later,” Adrianna says to Bucky after that. “I can ask if Sasha can come?”

 

Bucky flicks his gaze to Steve, and Steve is getting increasingly worried over who Sasha is.

 

“Uh,” Bucky says.

 

“Have you met Sasha, Steve?” Adrianna asks him.

 

“No,” Steve tells her, sounding much calmer than he really is.

 

“He is very sweet,” Adrianna smiles, “he is grandson.”

 

“Uh,” Bucky says again, but Adrianna keeps going.

 

“He is Yasha’s son,” she says happily.

 

Steve blinks at her. He can’t breathe. He looks at Bucky, whose expression has slipped into a tight smile which he’s directing at the table. Steve raises his eyebrows, feeling a lot like his guts just spilled out of his stomach and his diaphragm went with them because he can’t bring his lungs to expand or contract.

 

“You have a son?” he repeats. He sounds so much calmer than he feels.

 

“Did he not tell you?” Adrianna asks. She’s wringing her hands now, looking concerned.

 

“No,” Steve exhales.

 

“I was going to tell you,” Bucky mutters.

 

“Oh, you were?” Steve says. He’s found his breath now. He’s about ready to kill Bucky. “When? When it was your weekend to spend time with him and I woke up to find him wandering our apartment?”

 

He’s too stunned to be taken aback by how easily he lays claim to Bucky’s penthouse.

 

“I don’t get weekends,” Bucky says shortly under his breath.

 

“I wonder why,” Steve snaps.

 

Bucky turns his tight and sour smile on Steve. Steve doesn’t bother smiling at all.

 

“Don’t go there,” Bucky murmurs. “We can talk about this later.”

 

“Later,” Steve repeats mockingly. “Sure. Because you shouldn’t have this sort of conversation in front of your son’s grandmother, because you shouldn’t be talking about your son with your side ho in front of your baby momma’s ma?”

 

Bucky’s false smile drops entirely and he glares at Steve. Steve glares back, then abruptly, Bucky leans in closer and whispers in his ear.

 

“Don’t call yourself a side ho,” he murmurs. Steve drops his gaze and his glare. “That’s not what you are.”

 

Steve doesn’t answer. Adrianna looks incredibly uncomfortable. Bucky presses a soft kiss to Steve's temple, squeezing his shoulders again.

 

“I should not ask Sasha to come?” Adrianna says hesitantly.

 

“Sure,” Steve says before Bucky can answer. He still feels like his guts have been spilled, but he’s gathering them and his thoughts back into his body. “He should meet his dad’s boyfriend at some point, right?”

 

“Not today,” Bucky says, however. Steve glances at him and Bucky gives him a brief, warning look from the corner of his eyes. “Sasha’s still in school, Thanksgiving break doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

 

At least Bucky’s son is young enough to still be in school. Steve swallows nothing, looking at the table and wondering what he might have done if Bucky had a child that was as old as him.

 

“He’s in first grade,” Bucky says in Steve’s ear. Steve gives a short nod. That’s not so bad. Not a teenager. A little kid, but still…

 

“Okay,” Adrianna murmurs. “I thought he was with Maria, but okay.”

 

Bucky shakes his head. Steve glances at him again, trying to understand how he didn’t guess that Bucky was a father. Bucky is a father, and Steve’s been jokingly calling him _daddy._ Holy _fuck._

 

Bucky has a son and a baby momma who he’s still close enough to to pay her hospital bills. James Barnes already has an heir, and there goes another of Steve’s bargaining chips. Steve looks at the table, his mouth dry. He doesn’t want to eat at all. He feels a lot like a side ho.

 

“I’ll bring you lunch,” Adrianna says. “Let you talk. Do you want boys to eat in the kitchen?”

 

She points to Luke and Hunter.

 

“Next table,” Bucky says. Luke gives a nod and Hunter is already standing up. “Usual for me, can you bring spaghetti for Steve?”

 

Steve won’t eat it. It’ll go to waste. But Adrianna nods and is already leaving. The suits move a table down, close enough that they could jump to action if needed, but far enough that anything Steve and Bucky might say quietly won’t reach their ears.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a kid?” Steve demands in a hiss.

 

“Because I knew you’d freak out!” Bucky snaps. “Look, Maria and I –”

 

“I don’t give a shit about _Maria,_ ” Steve cuts him off. “How could you hide the fact that you have a son? I asked you about your family and you said nothing!”

 

Steve hadn’t even guessed that Bucky might already have an heir. And if Bucky already has a child, but he’s with Steve now, then that proves just how much he’ll be loyal to Steve if by some freak accident _he_ gets pregnant before his future is set in stone. And his future isn’t set in stone anymore, and Bucky fucking has a kid already and Steve doesn’t know how to be totally honest with anyone –

 

“Look at me!” Bucky snaps, grabbing Steve by the jaw and pulling his face up to make him look him in the eye. “Stop panicking about Sasha, alright? This doesn’t change anything.”

 

Steve jerks his jaw out of Bucky’s grip. “Doesn’t it?” he says quietly. “You lied.”

 

Bucky’s eyes go hard. Steve blinks at him, and thinks, yes, Bucky lied to him. Bucky lied to his face. And that hurts.

 

“You’ve been lying this whole damn time,” Bucky hisses.

 

Steve reels backward. He looks at Bucky with an open mouth, eyes wide, and somehow _that_ hurts even more. Maybe because it’s just as true.

 

“I –” he starts. Bucky looks down, something vaguely guilty flickering over his expression. “I wasn’t –”

 

Bucky mutters something not in English under his breath. Steve looks at the table again, then, jolting him into stiffness, Bucky lifts his arm.

 

Bucky rubs at his eyes with both hands and Steve shrinks into the corner of the booth. He glares, hurt, at the tabletop. Bucky glances at him, then sighs heavily and holds out a hand to him.

 

“C’mere,” he says gruffly.

 

Steve shrinks into the corner of the booth. The future that he’d been determined to secure a few days ago is coming crashing around him, there’s a very real and concrete end to that future staring him in the face, its name is _Sasha_ and its mother is, in his mind, kinder, more attractive, better in all ways. Maria can be honest. Maria knows how to love. Maria knows how to receive love, she knows how to return it, she knows how to be honest.

 

“Steve,” Bucky sighs, then holds out his hand, “come back here.”

 

“No,” Steve snaps.

 

“Come here,” Bucky retorts. “I’m not going to let you box yourself into a corner in your head and make yourself less than you are.”

 

“Is that what I’m doing?” Steve hisses. “I didn’t realize you were a mind reader, Barnes.”

 

“Come here!” Bucky says sharply. It’s almost jarring enough to make him go. “You’re still dropping, Steve!”

 

“I don’t even know what that means!” Steve answers. He shrinks into the corner, ignoring Bucky’s outstretched hand. “But _you_ lied –”

 

He cuts off because his voice is shaking. He covers his face with both hands.

 

Bucky’s hand closes on his arm and tugs on him. Steve doesn’t resist him, but doesn’t curl into him. Bucky wraps an arm around him and Steve sits stiffly away from him.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Bucky says in his ear. “I’m sorry you had to find out like that and now.”

 

“Fucking –” Steve spits out, then smacks the back of his hand against Bucky’s chest. “You keep fucking apologizing!”

 

“Because it’s the right thing to do!” Bucky snaps back. “Look, just let me hold you, alright?”

 

“Fucking tactile…” Steve mutters and doesn’t finish. Bucky sighs, audibly frustrated.

 

“You’re going through subdrop,” Bucky says gently, like he’s explaining something to a child, and strangely, Steve finds that he doesn’t really mind. That makes him angrier at himself. “It happens when doms don’t let subs down from subspace properly; it’s basically withdrawal. Being tactile helps. It releases oxytocin, right? It’ll make you feel better.”

 

Steve doesn’t ask how he knows. He can guess. Fucking Maria probably never went through subdrop.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky apologizes again.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve hisses under his breath.

 

“What do you want me to do?” Bucky asks, but it’s gentle, it’s kind, it’s soft and affectionate and Steve has no idea what he wants.

 

Yes, he does. He wants to go back to Friday night when Bucky wasn’t remotely affectionate and all Steve needed to do was sway his hips in a short skirt.

 

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, “c’mon, Stevie, I promise that you don’t gotta worry about Maria or Sasha, alright? It was just one night and it was dumb luck that she got pregnant, and Sasha’s a sweet kid, he won’t be mean or anything to you, he’ll like you, I swear.”

 

“You don’t get it,” Steve snaps.

 

“What?” Bucky prompts. Fucking gently. “What don’t I get, honey?”

 

Steve sniffs, sucking in a breath as that one fucking word, _fucking honey,_ just sends him from spitting mad to self-conscious and teary. He’s going to blame subdrop. Whatever the fuck subdrop is, he blames it. And it’s not like he can actually _tell_ Bucky that Sasha changes everything because his existence means Steve has lost value.

 

Bucky doesn’t need an heir from him, and Steve can’t entice him with one. He had thought that in the future he could start by suggesting Bucky fuck him raw and then maybe he could skip a birth control shot or he could even tell Bucky that he _wanted_ to have a baby, but that future is no longer guaranteed and Bucky doesn’t _need him_ to produce an heir anymore. He has lost so much of his value as a novelty fuck.

 

And Steve can’t tell him that. He’s trying to be honest and he’s still lying.

 

“What is it, sweetheart?” Bucky murmurs.

 

Steve leaves his face hidden in his hands. He can’t just say _nothing_ because so far Bucky has refused to take that as an answer. He has to say something, and it can’t be the truth.

 

Which means he has to keep lying.

 

“You can tell me.”

 

Steve scrambles to find something plausible as Bucky kisses his hair. His nasty, unwashed hair, and Bucky’s dropping kisses onto it with ease.

 

“What don’t I get?” Bucky murmurs.

 

“ _You_ lied to me,” Steve says finally. That makes sense, and that does hurt. “You had to know I was – that I was faking a lot of what I did – I wasn’t that subtle, and it’s not like I lied about more than how much I liked you, but you said you didn’t have any family but your sister and I believed you.”

 

Bucky’s quiet. Steve sniffs again and rubs at his nose with his sleeve.

 

“I couldn’t tell you were faking it,” Bucky admits.

 

Steve screws up his eyes, hissing _fuck_ under his breath.

 

“I’m not mad,” Bucky says hastily. “And – And I guess you’re right, this is a lot different. A kid’s pretty serious.”

 

Steve hisses _fuck_ under his breath again.

 

“And you already apologized,” Bucky keeps going. “And you said why, and I get it, I do, you haven’t done this before.”

 

Steve shakes his head sharply. That wasn’t why he was lying.

 

“A kid changes things,” Bucky mutters.

 

Steve nods, because _fucking yes_ a child changes things. He doesn’t even feel like he’s _Bucky’s_ bitch anymore, he’s just his side bitch. Even less. He’s _a_ side bitch.

 

“I get it if you’d rather not deal with that,” Bucky says slowly. “I do. I’ll still help you out.”

 

“What?” Steve splutters.

 

“You’re young,” Bucky says reluctantly, “you don’t want to have to deal with the pressure of a seven-year-old –”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve interrupts. Bucky breaks off, frowning. Steve gapes at him for a second, then says: “Kiss me.”

 

Bucky does. Fucking tenderly. A hand at the back of Steve's neck and the other holding his waist, lips soft, and Steve feels a bit of the tension drain out of him. Bucky touches their foreheads together for a moment before pulling back and Steve gets a breath in that isn’t hyperventilating. Then Bucky starts to pull back and Steve snatches a fistfull of his shirt, digging his nails in and Bucky stops. He sweeps a finger over Steve’s cheek, to come to a stop at his chin and Steve shuts his eyes, taking another deep breath.

 

Bucky taps under his chin. “Look at me,” he murmurs.

 

Steve sucks in another breath and opens his eyes. Bucky is looking at him tenderly and Steve swallows spit and phlegm, sniffing to clear his nose and he takes another breath.

 

“Are we exclusive?” he demands.

 

Bucky looks at him darkly. “Yes,” he growls.

 

A bit more tension drains. “And you’re not with Maria at all anymore?” Steve asks hesitantly.

 

“Aw, _Steve,_ ” Bucky sighs. He presses a palm to Steve's cheek and kisses him again. “No, no, honey, I was never even dating her, it was one time and we both swore never to do it again before we even knew she was pregnant with Sasha. And, really, I’m more like an uncle to him than a father, she’s got a man now, she’s married –”

 

Steve nods and Bucky breaks off, shaking his head. He kisses Steve’s forehead.

 

“I promise, I’m not seeing anybody but you right now,” Bucky tells him. “I haven’t been out with anyone in over a year, even. I hadn’t even had sex for a few months before we met, honey, it’s just you.”

 

Steve nods jerkily again. “Keep calling me that,” he mutters.

 

“Honey?” Bucky questions. Steve mutters an assent under his breath and Bucky kisses his hair again. “Alright, honey. You’re mine, Stevie, and only you, I promise.”

 

“I’m not a side bitch,” Steve whispers.

 

“Fuck, no,” Bucky swears. “No, honey, you’re not a side nothing, you’re my boyfriend, alright?”

 

Steve nods sharply again. He’s still terrified of _that,_ a real relationship and not just sex, but it’s somehow reassuring right then. He’s not _a_ side bitch. He’s not Bucky’s side anything. He’s just plain Bucky’s, and he can address his fear of being Bucky’s boyfriend later.

 

“You’re it for me right now,” Bucky murmurs into his hair. “I don’t two-time no one, I ain’t that much of a bastard. You’re it for me, honey.”

 

 _For right now._ Steve is shaking, because he wants to be it for Bucky forever, it’s hardly been a month, and he actually wants that forever to be sincere.

 

“Was that what you were worried about?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve just nods jerkily. He’s trying to be honest and he’s still hiding things. He’s still lying by omission. It’s another drop in the ocean.

 

“Fuck, you had me scared,” Bucky says quietly. “Thought you were gonna bail on me – And that’d just be worse on you with you like this.”

 

“No,” Steve mumbles.

 

“We can talk about Sasha later,” Bucky tells him. “But you don’t gotta worry about nothin’, honey. Swear to God, you don’t gotta worry I’m messing with you like that. Never.”

 

Steve just nods. Bucky kisses his nasty, unwashed hair again, and Steve shrinks closer to him instead of away.

 

“This is gonna go away,” Bucky says into his hair. “What you’re feelin’ right now, it’s gonna go away and you’ll be alright. I’m gonna take care’a ya through it, okay?”

 

“I know,” Steve mutters. “I trust you.”

 

Bucky presses another kiss to his hair. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

 

“For trusting you?” Steve questions. 

 

Bucky nods and Steve squints at his collar, wondering what can be read into his trusting Barnes. Probably more than he’s seeing, and probably something that will just freak him out later.

 

“I promise not to abuse your trust,” Bucky says.

 

“I know,” Steve says again.

 

Bucky’s hand at Steve's waist slips up, then back down, rubbing his side. Steve shuts his eyes, biting his lip to keep from complaining out of principle at how tactile and gentle he’s being right now. It feels good. It feels nice. Steve likes being petted just as much as he likes being fucked, and it’s not Bucky he’s really mad at for that.

 

“You’re mine,” Bucky says. He’s repeating himself again. “You belong to me.”

 

“I know,” Steve repeats himself, too.

 

Bucky’s hand pets over his ribs, slips down over his hip and rises up again. Bucky sets his cheek against the top of his head, against his dirty hair.

 

“I need to shower when we get home,” Steve says under his breath.

 

When did _he_ start thinking of Bucky’s marble penthouse as home?

 

“Okay,” Bucky says. “I’ll join you if you don’t mind.”

 

“I don’ mind,” Steve mutters.

 

“Good,” Bucky offers. His head lifts for a moment, then tucks back against him. Steve shuts his eyes again, breathing deeply now. “Not good for you to be alone like this.”

 

“‘S why you left work?” Steve guesses. It makes sense now. And even with the scare over Bucky’s heirs, he’s feeling a little bit better for Bucky being gentle and tactile.

 

Bucky murmurs a soft assent into his hair and Steve nods absently. He should probably thank him, and the longer he thinks about it, the guiltier he gets over how he tried telling Bucky to fuck off earlier. Bucky’s always working and he ran off the second he saw how Steve was feeling. Steve’s grateful. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s not.

 

“Thank you,” he mutters. “Y’didn’t have to.”

 

Bucky sighs long and Steve winces.

 

“Yes, I had to,” Bucky tells him. “It’s only right.”

 

“Sorry,” Steve answers quietly.

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky sighs again. “Not your fault.”

 

Steve doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know what to say that won’t make Bucky sigh in disappointment again. He hides his face in Bucky’s shirt, reaching his arms around his waist to hug him and locking his grip even though he knows full well Bucky won’t make him let go.

 

“You’re mine,” Bucky says. It’s maybe the thousandth time he’s said it, Steve doesn’t know why he keeps repeating it but it’s nice to hear – Maybe that’s why. “All mine, gorgeous.”

 

Steve sniffs hard, clearing his nostrils so he can breathe better.

 

“Tell me who you belong to,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“You,” Steve mutters.

 

“What are you?” Bucky asks gently.

 

“Your slut,” Steve answers automatically, but he doesn’t know how that’s is supposed to help.

 

“Y’re more’n that,” Bucky tells him. Steve blinks at his collar. “What are you?”

 

“Your –” Steve breaks off, frowning. “What?”

 

“Boyfriend,” Bucky says kindly. “You’re my boyfriend. You’re my partner, Steve.”

 

“Oh,” Steve says. That – Thinking it jarred him, yet Bucky voicing it was… nice?

 

“And you’re my sweetheart,” Bucky offers.

 

Steve snorts. “Don’t be cheesy,” he grumbles, but Bucky breaks into a grin.

 

“You’re my sweetheart,” Bucky repeats in a coo. “You’re my baby, my honey.”

 

“God, that’s so hipster,” Steve sighs.

 

“You like it,” Bucky says, squeezing the back of his neck. Steve melts a little. “My doll, my sweet baby.”

 

Steve pushes closer to Bucky, trying to hide how his heartbeat is picking up at Bucky’s gentle, non-sexual affection.

 

“Say it,” Bucky tells him.

 

“I’m your sweetheart,” Steve answers quietly.

 

“Good,” Bucky praises softly and Steve smiles a little. Whatever Bucky’s doing, it’s working now. He feels better. “That’s my good baby," Bucky goes on, "my pretty boy. Sweet honey, you are.”

 

“Tryna make me preen, huh?” Steve mutters.

 

“Jus’ tellin’ you what you are,” Bucky coos. “My darlin’.”

 

Steve snorts again, smiling despite himself and hugging Bucky tighter. “Now you’re goin’ soft on me.”

 

“I’m allowed to be nice to you,” Bucky says. “You’re my honey.”

 

“Cheesy bastard,” Steve complains half-heartedly.

 

“You like it,” Bucky insists.

 

“‘S fucking dumb,” Steve giggles.

 

“What, you rather I tell you in Romanian?” Bucky says. Steve shrugs. “How ‘bout this, ești amantu meu.”

 

“The fuck does that mean?” Steve snorts.

 

“I’ll never tell, amant,” Bucky swears. “Esti pretiosul meu, esti comoara mea, Îmi place cum devii roșu cand te sărut și Îmi place cum te plânge despre asta. Ești atât de drăguț când te roșii.”

 

“Oh, my God,” Steve snorts. “What the hell are you even saying?”

 

“I’m complaining about how you whine,” Bucky says.

 

Steve thinks that he can hear Bucky’s smile in his voice, or feel it with his face pressed to Bucky’s chest, and he lifts his head just to see. Bucky’s grinning.

 

“You like me whining,” Steve counters.

 

“I like a lotta things you do,” Bucky agrees. His smile turns softer. “Cred ca ma indragostesc de tine.”

 

“You ever gonna repeat that in English?” Steve asks. He tries for a stern expression. “It’s not nice to tell somebody things in a language they don’t know.”

 

“I know,” Bucky laughs.

 

He touches a thumb and forefinger to Steve’s chin and leans in; Steve closes his eyes, expecting Bucky to kiss him, and he does, but he kisses his nose. Steve lets out a protesting nose and Bucky laughs, then kisses him properly. Bucky kisses him tenderly, and Steve’s not even inclined to complain about it anymore.

 

“You’re a dumb,” Steve declares when he pulls back.

 

“I’m sure,” Bucky muses. He brushes his fingers through Steve’s hair, smiling in a way that can only be interpreted as fond, and Steve drops his gaze. “Cred ca ma indragostesc de tine.”

 

“You said that once already, right?” Steve asks.

 

“Yep,” Bucky says. “It’s true.”

 

“I don’t even know what it means,” Steve says. He looks up and Bucky kisses his cheek, startling him. “Hey!”

 

“Esti dragut,” Bucky says with a grin.

 

“You’re dumb,” Steve insists, half-heartedly smacking his shoulder with the back of his hand.

 

“Well, esti prețios,” Bucky counters.

 

“I have no idea what you’re saying!” Steve laughs.

 

“I just said you’re precious,” Bucky says.

 

Steve’s grin stops its growth. He looks at the table, then he laughs again, but it lacks mirth. “I’m precious?” he repeats. He shakes his head. “I’m precious?” he whispers under his breath.

 

“Esti prețios pentru mine,” Bucky murmurs.

 

Steve may not speak Romanian, but it doesn’t take a linguist to guess Bucky’s meaning.

 

“I’m precious to you?” he says quietly.

 

“You are,” Bucky says. He brushes at Steve’s hair, pushing his fingers through his greasy roots. “Pretios means precious. Comora means treasure. Amant means lover.”

 

“I’m not a lover!” Steve laughs quietly.

 

“You’re my lover,” Bucky says. “Alright? That’s what I want from you, it’s all I want from you. For you to be my lover.”

 

“I –” Steve starts, then stops. He was about to say that he’s just a hooker, but he isn’t anymore, is he? He’s run away from Fang and is sheltered not by James Barnes’s shadow but by his arms. He isn’t a hooker anymore. He doesn’t know what he is.

 

“You’re my partner,” Bucky whispers in his ear. “If saying lover makes you uncomfortable.”

 

Steve’s about to open his mouth and say that even partner makes him uncomfortable but halfway through he stops. He balls Bucky’s shirt up in his fist, looking somewhere to the left of his shoulder.

 

“No,” Steve mumbles. “Lover is fine.”

 

Bucky kisses his forehead and Steve looks somewhere to his left. This is what he wanted. This is what he wants, isn’t it? To be Bucky's lover. And if he’s going to try to be honest with Bucky, he’s got to be honest with himself. He wants to be Bucky’s _lover,_ and anything else to fall under that category. He can be Bucky’s harlot, his sweetheart, his pretty boy and his slut, but first and foremost, he is Bucky’s lover. He wants this.

 

“I’m trying,” Steve says quietly.

 

“It’s okay,” Bucky answers immediately. “I can wait.”

 

“You’re sure?” Steve says hastily. “You don’t mind?”

 

“Nah,” Bucky says. He gives Steve an easy and gentle smile. “You’re worth it.”

 

“I’ll try to believe that,” Steve says. He swallows again and raises the hand not fisted in Bucky’s shirt to rub at his eyes. “Um. Then, while I’m being honest? I should go back to see my shrink.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky answers. “That’s fine, that’s great.”

 

Steve just nods. He doesn’t have the energy to put into apprehension over telling Dr. Madini about the downward slope his life has slipped to, the abrupt relapse, or how he’s fallen into James Barnes’ bed. He’s not looking forward to it, at least. But he’s got a mental vision of Darcy glaring at him that keeps insisting that he needs to see her again.

 

“You want me to come?” Bucky asks then.

 

“No,” Steve says. “At least… I don’t think you need to come. I don’t know. Doc might want to talk to you.”

 

“I’ll pop in if you want,” Bucky says.

 

“Thank you,” Steve mutters. That’s a relief, at least. Dr. Madini can interrogate Barnes herself rather than Steve have to defend him endlessly. Dr. Madini has never been fond of Steve’s involvement with organized crime, and while she’s never judged him for it, she has never indicated any different. “At the very least, she should be happy I’m out of the business.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, sighing. “You’re out.”

 

Steve puts his head on Bucky’s shoulder, shuts his eyes and pulls his legs up onto the bench. Bucky’s arm around Steve draws him closer and Steve hopes he can undo the damage he did by playing tricks.

 

He hears a plate clinking against the tabletop and lifts his head. Adrianna gives him a smile and puts a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of him.

 

“I hope you feel better, rățușcă,” she says kindly. “Welcome to the family.”

 

With that, she walks off. Steve sits up some, looking down at the plate of food and Bucky puts a rolled up set of utensils in front of him. Steve picks it up and picks at the tape, then looks at the bowl Bucky has and watches him take out a spoon.

 

“What is that?” he asks. He’s stalling.

 

“White beans and pork knuckle stew,” Bucky says. He dips his spoon into it, catches a few beans and a strip of meat, then lifts it up and holds it out. To Steve.

 

He looks at it, then steels his nerves and leans forward, parting his lips. Bucky slips the spoon into his mouth and Steve tries to focus on the flavor, how the meat is sweet and the broth is almost spicy. He chews, looking away from Bucky, swallows and exhales.

 

Bucky kisses his cheek. “Good boy,” he murmurs in his ear. Steve sucks in a breath. He looks back at him, at the table, then Bucky taps the plate in front of him with his spoon and gives him a stern but kind look. “Eat what you feel comfortable, but eat some of it. It’s okay if there’s leftovers, we can take them home. If you eat at least a third, I’ll buy you something nice when we go to get your collar, okay?”

 

Steve looks at the plate of spaghetti, lips parted as he blinks. “Are you… You’re –” He breaks off to laugh, stunned. “You’re going to reward me for eating?”

 

Bucky gives a nod, looking serious.

 

“This is…” Steve starts.

 

“I looked it up, rewards are great for breaking these things,” Bucky says.

 

“You looked it up?” Steve repeats. “You looked up anorexia?”

 

“I wanted to be informed,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve shakes his head, stunned. Then he tugs his fork out of the napkin roll and cuts open a meatball. Bucky squeezes his shoulders and kisses his cheek again.

 

“Good boy,” he says softly. “Adrianna makes the best meatballs, you’ll like ‘em, swear.”

 

Steve nods vaguely, cutting off a small part of the meatball. He sweeps it through the tomato sauce and plucks into his mouth. Bucky sets to eating his soup, but he leaves his arm around Steve’s shoulders. Steve takes a moment to look at the dish, chewing and swallowing slowly. It’s pretty good. It reminds him of the stuff his ma used to make. The meat is soft and moist, full of spices, and the sauce is hearty and tangy, and the noodles taste homemade. It’s great.

 

“What kinda something nice?” he asks, cutting another piece of the meatball.

 

“How about some drawing stuff?” Bucky says.

 

“You could just buy me panties,” Steve mutters to himself. He twists noodles around his fork and stabs a piece of meat.

 

“I’m already buying you panties,” Bucky says with a shrug. “You like graphite or charcoal?”

 

“Charcoal,” Steve answers.

 

“I’ll get you those,” Bucky says.

 

“And pastels,” Steve throws in, looking up. Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Oil pastels.”

 

Slowly, Bucky nods. He puts down his spoon and brushes at Steve’s cheek with a thumb. “You’ll get ‘em,” he promises.

 

Steve licks traces of tomato sauce from his lips, then looks down. He can eat a third of this. Maybe he could eat half, even. He can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _welp, that happened. i hope you enjoyed this update and you'll leave me some comments telling me what you liked. chapter 13 will be up this evening as will the next chapter of edges blurred. thank you very much ducklings!_
> 
>  
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>  
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>  
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> _Translations in order of appearance, Romanian to English_
> 
>  
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> 
>  **cine este aceasta?** = _who is this?_  
>  **Foarte frumos băiat. Sunteți împreună?** = _Very nice boy. You are together?_  
>  **rățușcă** = _duckling_  
>  **ești amantu meu** = _you are my lover_  
>  **Esti pretiosul meu, esti comoara mea, Îmi place cum devii roșu cand te sărut și Îmi place cum te plânge despre asta. Ești atât de drăguț când te roșii** = _You are my precious, you are my treasure, I love how you turn red when I kiss you and I like how you complain about it. You are so cute when you turn red_  
>  **Cred ca ma indragostesc de tine** = _I think I'm falling in love with you_  
>  **Esti dragut** = _You're cute_  
>  **esti prețios** = _You're precious_  
>  **Esti prețios pentru mine** = _You're precious to me_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _and yeah, bucky went there_
> 
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> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	13. everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings for this chapter: Description of moderate torture.**
> 
>  
> 
> _it's super late and i have not had enough sleep in the past 48 hours so i do not have any witty comments for you. i'm also technically posting on the 29th but whatever. picking up right where we left off last chapter, here we go._

##  _everything_

 

Steve eats all seven of the meatballs and almost a quarter of the spaghetti. By the time he gets there, he’s relieved to feel full but not sick for it. He puts his fork down and leans against Bucky’s shoulder, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

 

Bucky brushes his cheek and Steve wrinkles his nose, opening one eye.

 

“Full?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve just nods. Bucky kisses his forehead. “Good,” he murmurs, “good job, baby. You liked them meatballs, huh?”

 

“They were great,” Steve mumbles.

 

He starts to add that they reminded him of his Ma’s, stops, then reconsiders. He’s being honest with Bucky. He wants to be honest.

 

Bucky scrapes up the last of his broth and beans and Steve, almost under his breath, mutters: “Tasted like my ma’s.”

 

Bucky pauses in his action, then looks at him. “Yeah?” he says.

 

Steve nods. “She used to make meatballs and onion soup, all the time. It was the first thing she’d make whenever I was sick.”

 

“You got sick a lot?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve shrugs a shoulder. “Something like that,” he says.

 

“Tell you what,” Bucky offers, “you find the recipe and give it to Adrianna, she can make it for you.”

 

Steve smiles just a little. “Maybe,” he says. He has the recipe. He’s tried to make it, but he’s never gotten it right.

 

“You want a box?” Bucky then asks.

 

Steve nods. It’s good food, it shouldn’t go to waste.

 

Bucky catches the attention of a waitress, who walks over holding the check.

 

“I need a box,” he tells her.

 

She just nods and holds out the check booklet. Bucky takes it, tugs out his wallet and tucks a card in the top, then hands it back and she leaves. Steve picks up his coffee, which has gotten cold, and sips it.

 

“Can we get more coffee on our way home?” he asks.

 

“We’re going to pick out your collar and get those charcoals first,” Bucky answers calmly. He pulls out his phone and opens his email while Steve settles against his shoulder again, thinking about wearing a collar.

 

“When would I wear it?” Steve says.

 

“Hmm?” Bucky says.

 

Steve shifts on the bench, turning to face him fully and curls his fingers around Bucky’s tie. Bucky turns his head, one eyebrow lifted.

 

“When would I wear the collar?” Steve asks quietly.

 

“Whenever you wanted to,” Bucky answers with a shrug.

 

“But I’d wear the chokers every day?” Steve says.

 

Bucky puts down his phone and lifts his hand to touch Steve’s cheek. Steve shuts his eyes and turns his face into Bucky's touch, breathing out slowly.

 

“Every time you leave the apartment,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve nods. He can do that. He would enjoy that. Bucky cups his chin and pulls him closer, then presses a lingering kiss to his cheek. Steve inhales slowly.

 

“How’s that?” Bucky murmurs in his ear.

 

“Yes,” Steve says.

 

He opens his eyes and looks Bucky in the eye, nods and thinks that he should look Bucky in the eye more. He has amazing eyes. At first, Steve had thought his eyes were steely and cold, like a harsh New York winter with all its cruelty and ruthlessness personified, but now that Bucky’s smiling gently at him, he sees the crows’ feet at the corner of his eyes. The wrinkles soften his face, make him look more human, less like winter’s unforgiving ice, more like a sheen of first frost over a deep lagoon. Something inviting and invigorating.

 

“Yes, I’d like that,” Steve says.

 

“Good,” Bucky answers. He touches a finger briefly to Steve’s chin and turns away to pick up his phone again. Steve puts his head back on Bucky’s shoulder, then turns so his back is pressed into Bucky’s side and slumps against him. He picks up Bucky’s arm by the wrist and pulls it around his body, until he’s hugging it, then finally puts his head in the crook of his shoulder and shuts his eyes. Bucky is a great pillow, Steve thinks absently.

 

“I have to pick something up from the office on our way home,” Bucky tells him.

 

“You know,” Steve observes, “for the leader of a crime syndicate, you seem a helluva lot like a CEO.”

 

“I am a CEO,” Bucky says. Steve snorts. “Hey, Seyrbakov Corporations is a legitimate company.”

 

“Sure,” Steve sniggers. “You import illegal goods.”

 

“Now, that’s smuggling, Stevie,” Bucky tells him in a faux-stern tone.

 

“Oh, excuse me,” Steve answers. He reaches back, tilting his head back to look, and touches Bucky’s cheek, brushing the back of his fingers against his stubble. Bucky breaks into a smile and Steve does, too. “You smuggle illegal goods.”

 

“Details,” Bucky answers. Steve snorts again and looks down, dropping his hand. “S. Corp. really is an import/exports company, I really am a CEO. Smuggling is just the underbelly.”

 

“If you say so,” Steve murmurs. “But you’re not famous because you’re CEO of an imports company.”

 

He imagines Bucky is rolling his eyes. That’s what Steve would do in his position.

 

“I’m not famous,” Bucky mutters then.

 

Steve laughs. He tugs out his phone and searches for _James Barnes,_ then shoves it in Bucky’s face to show him the millions of results. “Not famous!” he says. “You may be the leader of a crime syndicate, but you still were on the cover of Forbes last year!”

 

“Well, if we’re believing the Internet,” Bucky says, plucking the phone from Steve’s fingers and he sits up to look at him, “you’re famous, too.”

 

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky holds the phone out for Steve to see. “Cosmopolitan wants to know who you are,” Bucky says with a smirk.

 

Steve snatches it back, finding that all the recent news results are pictures of him under Bucky’s arm and the headlines all ask the same question.

 

“Oh,” he says.

 

Bucky flicks his eyebrows up.

 

“You should yell at the head of security for your building,” Steve says. He exits Google and blanks the screen.

 

“I already did,” Bucky says. Steve puts his phone on the table and drops back against his side, pulling his arm back snug against his torso. “What’s the matter?”

 

“Nothing,” Steve says. Then shakes his head and corrects himself before Bucky can fuss at him. “No, I just thought that would blow over.”

 

“What would? The picture?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says. He frowns at the walls of the booth, then picks up his phone and goes back to Safari. “I mean, I knew it was there. But it’s been a few days.”

 

“It’s just Tuesday,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve taps a nail against the screen, frowning at Cosmopolitan and People and wondering why the gossip rags are suddenly so interested in Bucky and him. He was mostly kidding about Bucky being famous, he’s a well-known name, but it’s not like he’s a movie star. Steve tilts his head to the side, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, and stares at his own repeated image. At least the picture’s decent.

 

The waitress approaches again, check and box in hand. Steve puts his phone away and swings his legs off the bench while Bucky takes the check from her and signs the receipt. He hands it back to her, then takes out his wallet, puts his card away and drops a fifty onto the table. Steve’s hardly impressed anymore.

 

“Let’s go,” Bucky says to him.

 

Bucky takes the takeout box and pulls his arm from Steve’s shoulders to pick up his plate. Steve tries not to shiver or feel cold for it. He watches Bucky scrap his leftovers into the box, blinking every time the fork hits the ceramic and clinks loudly. A table over, Bucky’s suits rise to their feet and put on their sunglasses. Bucky closes up the box, then brushes off his hands and shifts to the end of the bench with the box. He stands up, tugs straight his jacket, and holds his hand back out.

 

Steve slides out and takes his hand. Bucky closes his fingers on his wrist, then he tugs him in tightly and wraps his arm around him. Steve leans against him appreciatively.

 

Hunter walks out first, then waves Luke out and while Steve and Bucky linger in the entryway, the two bodyguards check each compartment of the car.

 

“Do they do this every time?” Steve asks.

 

“Yep,” Bucky says.

 

“Because you’re paranoid or…?” Steve says without finishing.

 

When Bucky doesn’t immediately answer, Steve looks up. “Because you have good reason?” he says slowly.

 

“Yep,” Bucky sighs. “Last driver I had before Luke, one time he didn’t check the chassis. There was a bomb. I wasn’t in the car, but he died.”

 

“Oh,” Steve says simply. Bucky thins his lips and says nothing else.

 

Steve looks back outside. Luke shuts the hood of the car, Hunter waves to them and Bucky starts walking, leaving Steve to hasten to follow. Hunter opens the rear door and Bucky withdraws his arm so Steve can get in.

 

When Bucky drops in next to him and Hunter slams the door, Steve asks: “So, you made me take a bodyguard up to my apartment the other day not just because my landlord was a creep?”

 

“Yep,” Bucky says.

 

“I’m not in any danger, right?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky works his jaw. Steve swallows nothing.

 

“You’re perfectly safe,” Bucky says eventually.

 

“Because you’ll give me bodyguards?” Steve says.

 

Bucky nods. “You’re fine, Steve.”

 

Steve shrugs and picks up his arm to pull it over his shoulders. Bucky glances down at him, then plants a kiss on his temple. Steve, pleased, leans on his shoulder.

 

“Where to, boss?” Luke asks.

 

“You know what,” Bucky says. Steve lifts his head. “Back to my building, I feel like driving.”

 

“If you say so, boss,” Luke answers, turning the key in the ignition.

 

Steve, for a brief second, imagines the front of the car exploding from some undetected bomb, but the engine sparks and purrs and nothing blows up. The partition raises and Steve puts his head back down.

 

Then he remembers where they’re going to go, and he can’t help but smile. Bucky’s buying him a collar. They’re going to a sex shop. Maybe he if he flutters his lashes and pouts enough, Bucky’ll buy him a few other things.

 

“I didn’t know you drove,” Steve says, ruminating in the back of his mind on what he might want that would darken Bucky’s gaze.

 

“Why wouldn’t I drive?” Bucky answers. Steve looks to his right, to Bucky still working on his phone.

 

“These guys always drive you around,” Steve says. He reaches out and pulls Bucky’s phone out of his hand.

 

“Hey!” Bucky protests.

 

“Shh!” Steve says. He swipes through Bucky’s apps until he finds the camera, opens it and switches to selfie mode. He shifts in his seat and holds it up, smiling at Bucky’s scowl on the screen. “C’mon, quit looking so dour.”

 

“Do we have to?” Bucky sighs.

 

 

Steve matches Bucky’s scowl but takes the picture. Then he shifts on the bench until he’s kneeling facing Bucky and, holding the phone so he can take another picture, he plants a smacking kiss on Bucky’s cheek. Bucky huffs out a laugh and Steve quickly snaps another, even though he’s probably grinning like a damn lovesick fool at Bucky.

 

“Come on,” Steve prompts, “smile for the camera, Buck.”

 

“Is this what kids these days call selfies?” Bucky sighs.

 

“Smile!” Steve says again, reaching up and tugging on his earlobe. “It won’t kill you!”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve tugs on his ear again, then takes his chin and pulls his face in to kiss him. He takes another picture as he does.

 

“You’re lucky you’re so damn cute,” Bucky grumbles.

 

“I’m fully aware of how damn cute I am,” Steve answers smugly.

 

Bucky gives him a look and Steve just smirks back. “Smile,” he says again.

 

Bucky works his jaw, then huffs and turns to face the phone Steve’s pointing at him. He gives the camera a very false smile.

 

“Aw, c’mon, Buck,” Steve says, “gimme a real smile! Please?”

 

Bucky drops the fake grin and raises an eyebrow at the camera. Steve purses his lips, then resettles his weight and leans in a bit closer.

 

“Please, sir?” he asks with an exaggerated pout.

 

“What’s in it for me?” Bucky asks, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

 

Steve tilts his head to the side and looks off to the left like he’s considering it. Then, he has a brilliant idea. He shifts his gaze to the phone, drops it a bit and subtly presses _record._ Just to have the memory. “Well,” he starts, “we _are_ going to a sex shop.”

 

Bucky raises both eyebrows. “That sounds more like something for _you,_ honey.”

 

Steve laughs and looks back at him, grinning happily. “But wouldn’t you like to shove a nice big vibrator up my ass, sir?”

 

“That does sound appealing,” Bucky answers musingly.

 

“You can tie me up,” Steve adds.

 

Bucky lifts a single eyebrow. “Is that so?”

 

“Yep,” Steve answers with a grin. “All you have to do is smile for the camera.”

 

Bucky runs his tongue over his teeth, like he’s considering it. “How about,” he begins, then starts to smile. “How about, first, I get you some new toys.”

 

“I’m listening,” Steve offers.

 

“I have a nice floor pillow,” Bucky goes on. He reaches up and brushes his fingers through Steve’s hair, and Steve almost drops his grip on the phone; he puts his hand, and the phone, on Bucky’s knee instead. “Some lovely silk rope.”

 

“If you want me kneeling,” Steve says, flicking up his eyebrows, “I don’t need much incentive.”

 

“I’m thinking something a little different,” Bucky says. He pushes his fingers back through his hair, then grips a handful of it at the crown of his head and Steve tips his head back happily. “You wanna know what I want to do to you, or you want me to surprise you?”

 

“No blindfolds,” Steve tells him.

 

“Never,” Bucky agrees instantly.

 

“Then I trust you,” Steve says.

 

Bucky smiles, slowly. “That’s just what I want from you, baby boy,” he purrs. He closes in and presses a long, lingering kiss to Steve’s exposed neck and Steve shuts his eyes with a short exhale.

 

“Then I’ll smile for the camera,” Bucky murmurs into his neck.

 

“Oh yeah,” Steve laughs. He lifts the phone and Bucky lets go of his hair to look at it. “Smile.”

 

Bucky squints at his phone. “Is that recording?”

 

“Yes,” Steve sniggers.

 

Bucky turns to him with an incredulous look. “You recorded all that?”

 

“I like making memories,” Steve says. He ends the video and pulls the phone back, flipping into the gallery and hitting _share_ on the video.

 

“What’re you doing now?” Bucky demands.

 

“Sending it to myself,” Steve answers. He scrolls through Bucky’s contacts, looking for his name. “Where am I?”

 

“Scroll up,” Bucky sighs.

 

Steve looks through _S_ names again. “Where?”

 

“Farther,” Bucky says, then plucks the phone from his hand. He scrolls all the way up to _B_ and stops. Steve looks at the screen and laughs.

 

“Really?” he says, raising his eyebrows at Bucky. “ _Baby Boy?_ Really?”

 

“I’m sentimental,” Bucky says simply. He sends the video and Steve’s phone buzzes. “You’re lucky I like you, Steve, I don’t like people taking my picture let alone video.”

 

“I feel so special,” Steve answers happily.

 

“You are so special,” Bucky insists. Then he shakes his head, huffs at smiles at the phone in his hand. He switches back to the camera and holds it up, and Steve leans against his shoulder to grin at the phone’s small webcam.

 

Bucky snaps the photo and pauses to study it a moment, then drops his phone into the cupholder on the door and grabs a fistful of Steve’s hair. Steve sucks in a breath and Bucky tugs his head up and back. Steve inhales sharply again, digging his fingers into Bucky’s tie, and Bucky tips his head back a little bit more. His other hand sweeps up Steve’s torso until it reaches his neck, where his fingers come to a close on his throat.

 

“You are very special,” Bucky says quietly.

 

Steve swallows. Bucky’s index finger and thumb press to the corners of his jaw, his palm pressing lightly, and Steve swallows again just to feel his throat working against Bucky’s palm.

 

“I want to try something,” Bucky says.

 

Steve licks his lips and figures he can try something, too. He answers just with: “Sir?”

 

“Positive reinforcement,” Bucky tells him. His fingers slip a little lower on Steve’s throat, then his lips press just under his ear. “You are precious, Steve.”

 

“If you say so,” Steve mutters.

 

“Repeat it,” Bucky hisses.

 

“What?” Steve says. Bucky bits his earlobe and Steve squeezes his eyes shut, his breath catching in his throat.

 

“Tell me what you mean to me,” Bucky says in his ear. “Every time you get it right, I’ll reward you.”

 

“What do you mean by right?” Steve asks.

 

“Curious,” Bucky murmurs. “You don’t care what the reward is?”

 

“Can’t get it if I don’t answer right,” Steve tells him. “What do you mean by right?”

 

“How much do you mean to me?” Bucky asks him softly.

 

Steve swallows again. His mouth is dry and he’s getting lightheaded, but it’s not from Bucky’s hand closed on his throat. The heel of Bucky’s palm is resting on the dip of his clavicle now, so there is hardly the illusion of a chokehold to even quicken his breathing.

 

“A lot?” Steve suggests.

 

Bucky nips at his earlobe. Steve gulps down air.

 

“Try again,” Bucky says.

 

“A lot a lot?” Steve answers. Bucky’s fingers tighten and his grip tugs down, pulling Steve’s neck to a craning point so that it’s not even the fingers closed on his throat that constrict his airways. Steve is forced to drop his mouth open to accommodate the stretch of his neck and Bucky kisses the corner of his open mouth.

 

“Close,” he says. “Try again, baby.”

 

“What unit of measurement are we using?” Steve asks. Bucky laughs. “A million dollars,” Steve says.

 

Bucky laughs again. “Not even close, doll.”

 

“A whole mine of gold,” Steve says.

 

“Try again,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“All the diamonds on Earth,” Steve snorts.

 

Bucky bites at his jaw and Steve sucks in a breath. “Close,” Bucky says.

 

“You’re not serious,” Steve mutters.

 

“I’m very serious,” Bucky says. “That’s my whole thing, honey. I’m a serious man. I wouldn’t kid around with you.”

 

“This is ridiculous,” Steve laughs, and Bucky’s fingers tighten on his hair so quickly he gasps.

 

“You want your reward or nah?” Bucky purrs in his ear.

 

“I want it,” Steve mumbles back.

 

“Then take this seriously,” Bucky tells him, but his fingers relax a little, to a more comfortable point. “What do you mean to me?”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve sighs.

 

“You’re getting pretty close on the whole all the diamonds thing.”

Steve exhales shortly and shakes his head as much as he can with Bucky’s hand fisted in his hair. “All the diamonds and jewels in the world?” he says.

 

“I’ll give you a hint,” Bucky offers, mouth close to his ear and from the corner of his eye Steve can see him smiling predatorily. “I let you sleep in my bed.”

 

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Steve asks.

 

“I’ve had several serious relationships in my life,” Bucky continues. His lips come to brush Steve’s ear and he shivers. “But I’m very suspicious, naturally. Comes with the job. I haven’t slept with another person in my bed in ten years.”

 

Steve takes a long breath and lets it out. He thinks about how Barnes has rarely been photographed at all let alone with someone on his arm and how little he seemed to mind the break of security in his own building that resulted in their picture being spread all over the internet. Bucky kisses his hairline and Steve considers the ways Bucky has spoken to him and how patient he has been despite his infamous lack of the virtue. Bucky had thanked him for voicing his trust in him.

 

“So what do you mean to me?” Bucky murmurs.

 

“You trust me?” Steve answers in a quiet voice.

 

“Yes,” Bucky exhales. He pushes Steve’s head forward and grabs his lips in a rough kiss that has Steve’s spine turning to jelly. Bucky breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together, slotting their noses side by side so they breathe the same air and Steve finds his mouth is hanging open. “I trust you. And that means everything.”

 

“I mean everything to you,” Steve whispers. He opens his eyes. Bucky’s lashes lie against his cheeks.

 

“Yes,” Bucky murmurs again.

 

“I mean everything to you,” Steve repeats.

 

Bucky kisses him again and Steve squeezes his eyes shut; he lifts up onto his knees and grabs Bucky’s face to kiss him back just as harshly, and both of Bucky’s hands fist in his hair. Bucky breaks the kiss to drag his lips down his jaw and Steve lifts his chin and his torso both, so his throat is level with Bucky’s face and he can present the line of his neck to him like an offering.

 

A lot has happened in so few days, Steve has found himself in way over his head on a totally different level of his hierarchy of needs, but the altitude and the thin oxygen no longer worry him. They make adrenaline run through his veins. Bucky’s fingers press to his throat again and Steve throws his head back until the stretch constricts his airways. He means _everything_ to Bucky. He is Bucky’s _lover,_ he feels precious to him and it isn’t just the way Bucky carries him. The threat of choking makes his heart beat quicker and meaning _everything_ to _someone_ is such a sweet feeling. Bucky’s attention is addictive but this is all so much more. Meaning everything to _Bucky_ is the oxygen he’s gulping down. Meaning everything to Bucky means something to him.

 

Steve thinks Bucky means everything to him. He breaks into a grin as Bucky sucks faint marks into his neck and thinks, he gets to be honest. He can be honest with Bucky. Bucky has been honest with him, but Steve wants to be honest back and that means everything.

 

“You mean everything,” Steve whispers.

 

“Say it again.” Bucky kisses the words into his throat, but it’s the same tone as before and Steve guesses that Bucky heard him wrong.

 

“No, _you_ mean everything,” Steve says. He drops his head forward and bends to kiss Bucky. “ _You_ mean everything. To me,” he murmurs against his mouth.

 

Bucky catches one of his wrists and holds him close. Steve steals another kiss and Bucky bites at his lip.

 

“You don’t gotta say it back,” Bucky tells him in a soft voice.

 

“You mean everything to me,” Steve insists.

 

“I’m making your ego inflate here,” Bucky laughs.

 

“I’m not inflating your ego,” Steve laughs. He grins at Bucky, like a damn lovesick fool. “I’m being honest. And I’m never honest,” he adds with another laugh.

 

“That means everything,” Bucky guesses.

 

"Yeah," Steve admits.

 

Bucky releases his grip on Steve’s hair to cup his face, sweeping a thumb over the crest of his cheek. He squeezes Steve's wrist gently, tenderly. “Thank you,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“Me being honest means the same as you trusting me,” Steve tells him, and Bucky slowly comes to a grin.

 

“That’s what you mean to me, baby,” Bucky tells him. He kisses Steve yet again, hungrily and Steve finds his weight dropping back onto his heels and Bucky’s hands on him the only things holding him up. When Bucky breaks the kiss, Steve hangs in his grip, his eyes still shut and lips parted.

 

Bucky lets out a low whistle. Steve sucks in a breath through his open mouth and Bucky thumbs at his cheek.

 

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Bucky sighs appreciatively. “Look at you. A little bit of kissing and you’re struck dumb.”

 

Steve gives a faint nod, but doesn’t answer verbally. He’s struck dumb, after all.

 

“Have you heard of the stoplight system?” Bucky asks abruptly.

 

Steve nods again. “Green, yellow, red, right?”

 

“Yes, exactly,” Bucky says.

 

“I don’t like yellow,” Steve muses.

 

Bucky is quiet and Steve opens his eyes. Bucky has a single eyebrow raised.

 

“You don’t like having a slow down level?” he asks.

 

“No, I don’t like _yellow,_ ” Steve clarifies. “As a color. It’s too bright.”

 

Bucky laughs and lets go of his wrist to pinch his chin between a thumb and forefinger. “Yellow is too bright?”

 

“They’ve done studies on yellow,” Steve insists, “it makes people angry.”

 

“I think that was orange,” Bucky chuckles.

 

“Same difference,” Steve answers with a shrug.

 

“Fine,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “How about a scale of one to five instead?”

 

“For what?” Steve says. Bucky doubles his grip on his chin and Steve realizes he’d been leaning in. “I wan’ a kiss, sir,” he complains.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” Bucky says with a smirk. “I’m going to ask you some questions and every time you answer them, I’ll kiss you.”

 

Steve sticks out his bottom lip. Bucky lets go of his chin and grips his lower lip instead and Steve sucks in a breath, shutting his eyes.

 

“Doesn’t matter what you answer, just that you do, but I want you to practice being honest with me,” Bucky tells him. “Understand?”

 

Steve nods. He likes being honest with Bucky, since it means so much.

 

“Answer out loud,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve opens his eyes and raises his eyebrows. He gives a light tug at his lower lip pinched between Bucky’s fingers and Bucky grins back at him.

 

“This is mine, baby boy,” he says. He even tugs his lip farther out, forcing his jaw open. “Do you understand?”

 

Steve rolls his tongue over and bites down lightly on it since he can’t work his jaw and Bucky flicks his eyebrows up. “Yes, sir,” Steve says with a little bit of difficulty.

 

“Good,” Bucky offers.

 

Steve raises his eyebrows, then pointedly shuts his eyes. “That was a question,” he mumbles.

 

“I guess it was,” Bucky answers musingly. He doesn’t let go of Steve’s lower lip and Steve is about to open his eyes when Bucky’s mouth presses to his neck.

 

“Hey!” Steve protests, snapping his eyes open.

 

“I didn’t say _where_ I’d kiss you,” Bucky laughs.

 

“That’s cheating,” Steve decides.

 

“I didn’t say where,” Bucky chuckles. “Now. Scale of one to five, honey.”

 

“One to five,” Steve repeats with a nod.

 

“I want to know how you’re feeling,” Bucky says, the traces of playfulness slipping from his voice and manner. He still doesn’t let go of Steve’s lip, though. “That’s going to determine what I do to you later.”

 

Steve feels a shiver go down his spine at _what I do_ to _you._ “Okay,” he says. He wants Bucky to do whatever he wants to him.

 

“How tired are you?” Bucky asks him. “Five is real energetic and one is bone-dead exhausted.”

 

Steve takes a second to think about it. He woke up around 11:30 and he’d felt pretty rested up until he saw that Bucky wasn’t there. But by now he’s been awake a few hours and he’s had a little bit of coffee.

 

“Four,” he says.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky praises with a grin, then he lets go of his lower lip and Steve shuts his eyes so Bucky can kiss his mouth. Steve chases his lips for a second when Bucky pulls back, until Bucky grabs him by the jaw and holds him still. “One kiss for one answer, doll.”

 

“Fine,” Steve grumbles.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “You talkin’ back to me, honey?”

 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Maybe?”

 

Bucky tuts at him and lets go of his jaw. “Stick your tongue out,” he says.

 

Steve drops his tongue out of his mouth and Bucky pinches it between his fingers, tugging on it.

 

“You’ll answer my next three questions like this,” Bucky tells him.

 

“Yethir,” Steve mumbles. Bucky tugs on his tongue again and Steve breaks into a smile.

 

“Get that look off your face,” Bucky orders. Steve grins wider for a second, then drops it and looks up at Bucky with big eyes. “Better,” he says with a nod. “Do you know what touch starvation is?”

 

Steve shrugs a shoulder. Bucky raises his eyebrows.

 

“Nah weally,” Steve sighs. He can’t make _R_ sounds with his tongue sticking out, apparently. Bucky kisses his cheek and Steve briefly shuts his eyes.

 

“People crave physical contact,” Bucky says. “When they don’t get enough, they get antsy, emotional, it can worsen anxiety, depression, insomnia. Enough is relative to each person, not everybody gets touch starved. Make sense?”

 

“Yeth,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky tugs on his tongue, then without letting go he leans in and kisses Steve’s tongue. Steve makes a choked off sound and curls his toes up.

 

“Good baby,” Bucky murmurs. Steve makes another involuntary, strangled noise and Bucky smirks at him briefly before going serious again. “On a scale of one to five, one being you don’t want me to stop touching you at any point the rest of today and five being you’d be alright with us not touching much at all, how touch starved do you feel?”

 

Steve starts to think about it, then wrinkles his nose and Bucky tacks on: “Now, I don’t mean you _want_ us to not touch, I mean you wouldn’t feel bad after a few minutes if we weren’t touching.”

 

“Kay,” Steve mutters. He closes his lips and teeth on his tongue so he can swallow the saliva pooled in his mouth.

 

“Think about it,” Bucky tells him firmly and Steve nods.

 

Touch starved. How touch starved is Steve? This morning when Bucky snatched him up and nearly squeezed the air out of him with how hard he’d hugged him, Steve had felt relieved. And in the car, Bucky petting his hair calmed his wild thoughts. In the diner, Steve had been angry with himself not Bucky when Bucky was being tactile, and he was upset because he was so affected by it. He thinks about Bucky letting go of him, trying to predict how he might react to it, and his vision of Bucky releasing his grip turns into Bucky stepping back and walking away and Steve grabs a fistful of Bucky’s shirt without meaning to.

 

“You’re okay,” Bucky interrupts his thoughts; he lets go of Steve’s tongue and grabs him by the waist to haul him in. “I’m right here.”

 

“Maybe a one,” Steve mutters under his breath.

 

“That’s fine,” Bucky tells him, “that just means I’m gonna be petting you all day, okay?”

 

Steve gives a jerky nod. Bucky cups his cheek and kisses him, softly this time. Steve appreciates it. Bucky grabs one of his thighs under the knee and tugs; Steve follows the motion and throws his leg over Bucky’s lap, then leans his arms on his chest and closes his eyes.

 

“You’re fine, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs to him, then cups his jaw and looks at him with sternness in his eyes. “While we’re shopping, you’re to hold my hand at all times, hear?”

 

“Okay,” Steve mutters. Shouldn’t be too hard. Not clinging to Bucky the way he did in the diner, that would probably be the hard part. “‘S fine.”

 

“You’re not allowed to let go unless I say you can,” Bucky goes on. Steve nods vaguely to confirm he understands so Bucky can continue. “If I’ve got my arm around your waist or shoulders, you may let go, and if I have to let go of your hand, you’re to stand right next to me and keep a hand on my arm. While we’re in the car, you’re to keep your hand on my knee if I have to have both hands on the wheel, but not do nothing funny, alright?”

 

“Okay,” Steve repeats, a little startled.

 

“You may not walk out of reach from me,” Bucky says and Steve blinks at him. “If I have to take even half a step to touch you, you’re too far. Is that clear?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers.

 

“Will that be a problem?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrows.

 

Steve figures he’s asking if he’s okay with being ordered around like this, outside of the bedroom and for non-sexual purposes. He shakes his head, adding: “No, sir.” He’s fine with it. Bucky ordering him not to let go will prevent him from being self-conscious that maybe he’s being too clingy after all. Bucky gives a nod and brushes a touch to his cheek.

 

“I think I owe you three kisses,” he says in a gentler tone.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Steve mumbles. _Problem_ and _clear_ and _alright,_ those were all questions. _Hear,_ too. “Actually, four.”

 

“Four,” Bucky agrees.

 

Bucky cups Steve's cheek and pulls him closer. Steve closes his eyes and Bucky presses their lips together softly again. Bucky pulls back for a moment, then returns and kisses him with vigor. Steve pushes his arms around Bucky’s neck, opening his lips for Bucky’s tongue to intrude and lets his mouth hang open even when Bucky breaks the kiss. Bucky then kisses his both of his cheeks and Steve finds his eyes blinking open.

 

“Good baby,” Bucky murmurs and Steve shivers again at the phrase. “Scale of one to five again, one is not at all and five is totally okay. How do you feel about being in public right now?”

 

“In public?” Steve repeats. “Like, crowds and stuff?”

 

“Having to interact with people you don’t know well,” Bucky clarifies. “One to five.”

 

Steve exhales through his mouth heavily and shrugs. “Uh, a five, I guess?”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “You guess?”

 

Steve bites his lip and drops his gaze. “I’ve never really had an issue with strangers,” he muses under his breath.

 

“You were shy with Adrianna,” Bucky points out.

 

Steve opens his mouth, but then stops. He lets out a quiet _huh._ “I was,” he mutters in assent. He thinks back, remembering the moment that Adrianna turned her motherly smile on him and he shrank from it, then looks down at the knot of Bucky’s tie and drops a hand to fiddle with it. “I think that was because…" he starts. "I don’ know.”

 

“What?” Bucky prompts.

 

“Well, she –” Steve starts, then breaks off. He’s gone shy again. He closes his hand around Bucky’s tie, then lets go and smooths it out, just to curl a finger into his collar. “I don’t know, she was… kind.”

 

“You’re unused to that kinda attention,” Bucky says gently. Steve nods. “That’s alright, baby. How do you think you’ll deal while we’re shopping? One to five.”

 

“Four,” Steve says. He’s never had problems with strangers or crowds, but Bucky has a point, he was shy with Adrianna. He can give himself a little breathing room with a four.

 

Bucky kisses his nose and Steve smiles just a little. “You owe me two more,” he says when Bucky opens his mouth.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows again, then huffs out a breath. “I guess I do,” he says. Steve settles his weight on his assbones and shuts his eyes, chin tilted up, and Bucky’s lips press to his neck. Steve rolls his eyes under his lids and tips his head farther back, to let Bucky kiss the knot of his throat.

 

“Very good, baby,” Bucky tells him. Steve smiles, his face aimed at the ceiling and his eyes shut. “We’re almost back home. We’re gonna take a different car and go buy your charcoals and your oil pastels, and then we’ll go get you your collar and your new toys. One last question.”

 

“Shoot,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Scale of one to five, one is you’re not that thrilled, five is you can’t wait,” Bucky says, and his fingers close on Steve’s jaw and pull his face down; Steve opens his eyes and meets his gaze. His eyes really are gorgeous. Maybe he’ll draw them once he’s got the stuff to do them justice. “How much do you want me to tie you up?”

 

Steve breaks into a grin. “Five,” he says happily.

 

Bucky’s lips slowly curl up at the corners. He sweeps a finger down Steve’s face and tucks it under his chin. “Alright,” he murmurs. “I know what I’m gonna do to you.”

 

“Surprise me,” Steve says.

 

Bucky grips his chin and tugs him in for a firm kiss. “I’ll do that,” he says when he’s done.

 

Someone knocks on the partition; Steve, having somehow forgotten that the bodyguards were just on the other side of it, jumps and Bucky’s arms jerk to lock around his waist.

 

“We’re pulling up to the garage, boss,” Hunter’s muffled voice comes.

 

“Alright!” Bucky calls back. Steve blinks at his abrupt volume and raises a hand to poke at his ear canal pointedly. “Aw, shuddup,” Bucky grumbles to him, “that thing’s nearly soundproof.”

 

“That why you’re fine messing around back here?” Steve mutters. Bucky raises his eyebrows. “What, you said you don’t like audiences.”

 

“I did say that,” Bucky says musingly. He smiles at Steve and reaches up to flick a finger under his chin. “I guess you deserve somethin’ nice for listening, huh?”

 

“If you’re gonna shower me with gifts every time I listen to you I’m gonna want hearing aids,” Steve tells him.

 

Bucky frowns speculatively at him. “Are you hearing impaired?”

 

“Eh,” Steve says with a shrug. “Just a little bit. Not really enough to need hearing aids, I was kidding.”

 

“You want a checkup?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve shakes his head. “Not anytime soon. Doctors said I’d need ‘em by thirty.”

 

“When’s the last time you had a physical?” Bucky asked.

 

“Uh…” Steve answers.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “I’ll set one up,” he says dryly.

 

“I don’t have insurance,” Steve says hastily. “I usually just go to a free clinic.”

 

“I’ll put you on mine,” Bucky replies easily. Steve’s jaw slips open. “What?”

 

“Can you even do that?” Steve asks disbelievingly. “We’re not – We’re just dating –”

 

“We live together,” Bucky interrupts. “And I can do whatever I want, I own the company.”

 

Steve lifts his eyebrows. “I guess that’d do it,” he mutters. “I guess that also takes care of the fact that I have about a thousand pre-existing conditions.”

 

“My plan covers everything,” Bucky says dryly. “As of right now. Because I said so.”

 

Steve gives him a look. Bucky flicks his ear and Steve snorts, dropping the expression and his gaze.

 

“No back-talk,” Bucky tells him, “not even non-verbal.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve chuckles.

 

“What kinda pre-existing conditions we talkin’, anyway?” Bucky asks. “Other than being a brat.”

 

“Rude,” Steve says, but he's laughing because Bucky isn't wrong. Bucky huffs and flicks Steve's ear again and Steve ducks his head to avoid his hand. "Okay, I get it!" Steve laughs.

 

The car stops. Steve lifts his head, then picks himself up off Bucky’s lap and drops onto the bench next to him. Bucky snatches Steve's hand off the seat and raises it to his lips. He kisses the back of his hand and Steve smiles softly.

 

The door opens and Bucky slips out, picking up his phone and dropping it into a pocket, but doesn’t drop Steve’s hand in the process. Steve’s forced to shuffle quickly to the door and step out of the car with Bucky’s hand locked on his. He figures that this is the start of the _hold my hand_ rule.

 

"Mr. Rogers and I will be going back out on our own," Bucky tells the bodyguards; Steve almost sniggers at being called  _Mr. Rogers,_ because seriously, Bucky, what the hell? "You two can take it easy the rest of the day."

 

"Sure thing, boss," Luke says.

 

Steve looks down the line of cars, seeing in the shadows at the end of the garage the stretch limo they used on Saturday morning, as the two bodyguards walk to the end of the Benz. Bucky gives a tug on Steve’s hand he starts walking, only for Bucky to stop at the end of the car with the bodyguards.

 

Steve raises an eyebrow, but before he can ask what they’re doing Luke opens the trunk of the car. It’s empty, or at least it appears that way, as Luke reaches into the far depths of the trunk and fumbles for something until the bottom of the trunk pops up. Bucky reaches down and lifts it, revealing an impressive array of guns.

 

“Whoa,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky lets go of Steve's hand to pull off his jacket, then takes a holster from the trunk and pulls it over his shoulders. Steve takes a shuffling step closer to him, remembering his rules, while Bucky buckles the harness and shoves the lower straps under the waistband of his slacks to hide them. He takes out a revolver, checks the chambers, and shoves it into the holster before picking up an extra bag of bullets and tucking it into his pocket. Bucky then withdraws a significantly smaller pistol and looks at Steve.

 

“You know how to shoot?” Bucky asks.

 

“Kinda?” Steve answers. He takes the gun from Bucky with a distasteful look, though. “I mean, if it’s not a peashooter.”

 

Bucky plucks the gun out of his fingers with a disapproving scowl, puts it back and takes out a slightly larger handgun. “How’s this one, your majesty?”

 

“Better,” Steve says, taking it. “Uh. Why am I taking this?”

 

“Because these two clowns are staying here,” Bucky says with a jerk of his thumb toward Hunter and Luke. Neither of them look amused or impressed. “And in the event we get separated, you need something to defend yourself with.”

 

“I do have Mace upstairs,” Steve tells him self-importantly.

 

“Something effective,” Bucky answers blithely. “Ever used a switchblade?”

 

“No,” Steve says. Bucky pushes a heavy knife into his palm anyway. “Do you do this every time you go out?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky says calmly. He holds out a holster and straps and Steve looks between his two occupied hands until Bucky sighs and lifts the hem of his overlarge sweater. “Arms up.”

 

Steve raises his eyebrows but lifts his elbows. Bucky wraps the straps of the holster around Steve's waist, buckling them and taking the gun from Steve to push it into the holster. Bucky takes the knife, too, and puts it in the front pocket of Steve’s jeans, hooking the clip on the hem. Bucky drops his sweater and Steve lowers his arms.

 

“There,” Bucky says in satisfaction. He shuts the false bottom of the trunk shut, then the lid of it, and takes Steve’s hand again. "Thanks, boys."

 

Luke and Hunter walk around and ahead of them, as Bucky strides down the line of cars and Steve hastens his steps to keep up with him. Bucky stops abruptly, Steve stumbles into him, and the two bodyguards begin inspecting a sleek but dimly lit vehicle. Luke lifts the hood and Hunter sticks his head in the trunk, and after five minutes they retreat with nods to Bucky. Steve glances over his shoulder as they walk towards the exit into the apartment building and Bucky tugs on his hand.

 

Steve redirects his gaze and Bucky pulls him toward the passenger seat of the car. He opens the door and offers a slight bow to Steve, a corner of his lip curled.

 

“Dragă mea,” Bucky says in a soft tone.

 

“I have no idea what you just said,” Steve answers.

 

He gets into the car, though. Bucky catches his hand when he reaches for the seatbelt, then does it himself. Bucky meets his gaze and Steve licks his lips, and in answer, Bucky grasps Steve's chin and kisses him gently.

 

“It sounds nice,” Steve mumbles.

 

“It is nice,” Bucky tells him. He pecks another kiss to Steve’s lips and withdraws, shutting the door of the car. Steve looks around the interior while Bucky walks around to the driver’s side; everything is black leather, and in the low light, he can’t see much else.

 

Bucky gets into the car, clips his seatbelt into place and presses a button rather than inserting a key. The dashboard lights switch on while the engine lets out a loud purr as it starts and Steve immediately is entranced by the digital display in the center of the dashboard.

 

“Wait, don’t put it in gear,” Steve says hastily. Bucky’s hand hovers over the gear shift and he frowns at him while Steve tugs out his phone and opens his BlueTooth settings.

 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks. Steve presses a button on the display.

 

“Playing music,” Steve answers. His phone pairs and he grins as he opens Spotify.

 

The car’s speakers come to life and Steve turns his grin on Bucky. Bucky rolls his eyes, puts the car in gear and looks over his shoulder to reverse despite the fact that there’s a backup camera. Steve happily adjusts his queue on Spotify, then turns up the volume and fiddles with some of the settings.

 

Bucky puts the car in drive and the engine continues to purr in the way only top of the line muscle cars do. Steve leans back in his seat and puts his knock-off Vans on the dashboard, raising his hands to rest them under his head and grin at nothing.

 

“What’d I say earlier?” Bucky says.

 

Steve looks over at him. Bucky, without looking, reaches over and takes one of his hands. Steve sits up straighter and squeezes Bucky’s hand.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

 

“Nah, not a thing you’re allowed to be sorry for,” Bucky says. He puts Steve’s hand on his leg and takes the wheel again, pulling onto another level of the garage. “It’s fine if you forget as long as touch me as soon as you notice.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers. Bucky picks up his hand then and presses a kiss to the back of it, putting it back down even as Steve smiles reflexively.

 

He shifts in his seat to face him, then curls his fingers into Bucky’s pant leg. He picks up his phone with his other hand, then opens his messages and smiles wider at the video from _Sir._

 

“I have to stop at my office first,” Bucky says. Steve downloads the video, then opens his own camera and takes a picture of Bucky just because he can. “Then we’re going to the grocery store.”

 

“Grocery store?” Steve repeats, looking up.

 

“I got plans,” Bucky answers. Steve opens his mouth, then just blinks. Bucky glances at him and smiles. “You still want to be surprised?”

 

“What kinda surprise is coming from the _grocery_ store?” Steve asks him suspiciously.

 

“Dinner,” Bucky says with a snort. “Get your mind outta the gutter, Steve.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “My bad,” he drawls mockingly. “Are we going to buy sex toys after we go to the grocery store?”

 

“We’re going to buy charcoals,” Bucky tells him. “And oil pastels, and whatever else you want.”

 

“What if I want one of everything?” Steve counters.

 

“Within reason,” Bucky says with raised eyebrows. Steve snorts and looks back at his phone. “After that, we’ll buy sex toys,” Bucky adds.

 

Steve grins and squeezes Bucky’s thigh. “Thank you, sir.”

 

Bucky smiles out the windshield, then drops it when he pulls up to a guard tower. He lowers the tinted window, but doesn’t even have to say anything before the gate shudders and lifts. Bucky puts his window back up and Steve shakes his head as they pull out of the garage. He looks over his shoulder to watch the gate shut. He thinks he sees the guard making the sign of the cross and he snorts.

 

“Steve,” Bucky says. Steve looks back at him; his face is serious again. “I want you to know that I’m not doing anything intense to you. We’re just gonna have a quiet evening.”

 

Steve frowns at him, confused. “But you said you’d tie me up?”

 

“And I will,” Bucky promises. He drops his hand from the steering wheel to take Steve’s again, squeezing it. “But you’re still recovering from dropping, let alone…” Bucky lets out a long sigh and Steve just continues frowning. “I don’t know, I just don’t want to put you through that again. I probably shouldn’t have even spanked you like that last night –”

 

“Why?” Steve demands.

 

“‘Cause –” Bucky starts, then breaks off to exhale sharply again. “You sure you’re feeling alright? After Sunday?”

 

Steve shrugs a shoulder. “Probably not,” he says. Bucky’s face turns sour. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want you to spank me,” Steve adds hastily. “I asked for it, didn’t I?”

 

“You did,” Bucky muttered.

 

“And you gave me what I wanted,” Steve insists. “And – and yeah, this morning ended up shitty, but you came back, and last night was still incredible. Who says a good fucking is bad coping mechanism?”

 

“That’s pretty shitty coping mechanism,” Bucky grumbles. “Sex won’t fix everything.”

 

“A good fucking from someone I trust,” Steve restates. Bucky’s expression loses some of its sour qualities. “You said it yourself, oxytocin’s good for you. They call it the love drug for a reason, Buck.”

 

Bucky lifts his hand and kisses the back of it again before letting it fall back to his leg. His expression is still tight, though. Steve lifts his hand from his thigh and brushes his cheek. “Stop beating yourself up over this morning. I forgive you.”

 

Bucky sighs heavily. “I knew better,” he says.

 

“But I forgive you,” Steve insists. “And we’re gonna eat breakfast together every morning now, so you won’t let me wake up alone and it won’t happen again.”

 

Bucky clenches his jaw. Steve pokes at the muscle. “I forgive you,” he says a third time. “I mean it. You won’t let it happen again.”

 

“I’m not perfect,” Bucky grumbles.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Alright, sure, but it’s not like you let me drop on purpose. You didn’t know that it would happen if you went to work.” When Bucky’s jaw doesn’t unclench, Steve drops his hand onto his arm and squeezes his bicep. “You didn’t know it would happen.”

 

“I still knew better,” Bucky says.

 

“Buck,” Steve groans, “I say I forgive you, you say thank you and we let it go. I’m okay, I swear, and I forgive you, so stop being a jerk to yourself for it.”

 

Bucky exhales heavily again. Steve leans a little toward him, then reaches out with his right hand, too, to touch his shoulder. “I forgive you,” he says emphatically. “Seriously.”

 

“Alright,” Bucky finally admits. “Thank you. I’ll do my best to deserve.”

 

“Buy me something pretty,” Steve answers easily with a smile and Bucky snorts, shaking his head, but then he goes on. “I’m kidding. Forgive yourself, jerk.”

 

“Forgive myself?” Bucky repeats with a laugh.

 

“Forgive yourself!” Steve insists. “Because I said so.”

 

“You’re a punk,” Bucky chuckles.

 

“Forgive yourself,” Steve tells him. “Or I’ll tell your cronies you like being called Daddy.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “If you say so,” he laughs.

 

“I mean it!” Steve snorts, shaking Bucky’s hand. “I’m serious, Buck. I forgive you, so you should, too.”

 

Bucky pulls his hand up and kisses it. “Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll try.”

 

Steve smiles a little and drops his temple against the seat. That’s good enough for now.

 

“When are you going to schedule that shrink appointment?” Bucky asks abruptly.

 

“I was gonna call tomorrow,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky glances at him, then squeezes his hand. “You can call now,” he suggests.

 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Tomorrow,” he says.

 

“I can call,” Bucky offers. Steve lifts his head and Bucky shoots him a smile. “Don’t like phone calls, do you?”

 

“No,” Steve says under his breath. He glances at his phone, then unlocks it and pulls up Dr. Madini’s office. He dials, the music cuts off and he turns BlueTooth off on the call and holds the phone out to Bucky.

 

Bucky lets go of Steve's hand to take the phone and Steve puts his hand back on Bucky's thigh. Then he shifts again and puts his other hand on Bucky’s thigh, shifting his left hand to tuck his fingers into Bucky’s pocket. Bucky holds the phone to his ear and Steve can almost hear it ringing.

 

“Hey,” Bucky answers the distant greeting. “I need to schedule an appointment for Steve Rogers with –”

 

He pauses to glance at Steve who hisses: “Madini, Dr. Larah Madini,” at him.

 

“Dr. Madini,” Bucky repeats into the phone. “As soon as possible.” Steve hears the faint voice of the receptionist and Bucky tilts his head towards him. “Monday at 1:45?”

 

“Sure,” Steve answers.

 

“That’ll do,” Bucky says into the phone. “Thank you.”

 

There’s a reply, and Bucky drops the phone from his ear; he hangs up without looking and holds it back out to Steve. Steve takes it, plays the music again, then puts his hands back on Bucky’s leg. Today is Tuesday. Monday gives him almost a week to think about what he needs to say.

 

“How’d you get appointments there without insurance?” Bucky asks.

 

“Got an in,” Steve answers. “‘Member, I told you about my friend?”

 

Bucky makes a quiet noise of understanding.

 

“They keep me off the books,” Steve says.

 

“You wanna stay off the books or what?” Bucky asks. “You’re on my insurance now.”

 

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably not. Ask me again later.”

 

Bucky looks at the road with serious eyes, his brows drawn together and his lips in a thin line. Steve reaches up and lightly tugs on Bucky's earlobe.

 

“You keep makin’ that face, it might stick that way,” Steve warns softly. “Stop overthinking. I’m fine.”

 

“I’m not overthinking,” Bucky mutters.

 

“Then what’s with the face?” Steve demands. He pokes Bucky’s cheek, making him break into a scornful look and snatch his hand.

 

“I’m driving here, brat,” Bucky says. He squeezes Steve’s fingers and drops his hand, and Steve puts it back on his thigh obediently.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve insists, though. “You’re not going to scar me for life by smacking my ass a few times.”

 

“Honest?” Bucky asks abruptly. “And I’m serious, Steve, if you ‘n’ me isn’t helping you and you don’t tell me –”

 

“I promise,” Steve interrupts. “I’ll tell you if I need a break.”

 

Bucky gives the steering wheel a firm nod. He grips it with white knuckles and Steve lifts a hand to touch his elbow.

 

“Same goes for you,” he says softly.

 

“I know,” Bucky mutters.

 

“You told me you didn’t have the time or patience to work on a relationship,” Steve says and Bucky’s frown tightens. “Hey, quit makin’ that ugly face, it ain’t becoming.”

 

“What’s your point?” Bucky sighs.

 

“You’re being pretty patient now,” Steve answers calmly. He squeezes Bucky’s arm. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

 

Bucky exhales heavily again and he relaxes his grip somewhat on the wheel, then lets go with his right hand to take Steve’s and bring it back to his lips. He kisses the back of Steve’s hand twice, then flips it and kisses his palm. Bucky holds his hand against his mouth for a second, then kisses his knuckles and puts it on his leg.

 

“Make sure you ask your shrink about us,” Bucky murmurs. “Until then, nothing more heavy than talk.”

 

“And tying me up,” Steve repeats. He pinches Bucky’s thigh lightly. “Because you said you would.”

 

“And tying you up,” Bucky sighs. Then he breaks into a light smile and shakes his head. “I swear, you’re somethin’ else, Stevie.”

 

“Good thing you caught me,” Steve agrees. He turns to face forward in his seat again, taking away his right hand and curling his left over Bucky’s thigh. Bucky smiles again and Steve’s lips curl in a similar grin as he looks out the windshield.

 

“What do you want for dinner?” Bucky then asks.

 

“Depends on what you’re planning to do to me,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Fair point,” Bucky agrees. Steve taps a finger against his leg. “I have an idea.”

 

“What?” Steve asks.

 

“Would you want to try hand-feeding?”

 

Steve blinks once, then looks at Bucky with his eyebrows as far up his forehead as possible. “Do I want to what?”

 

“Hand-feeding,” Bucky repeats. “Y’know, I feed you by hand?”

 

“Um,” Steve answers.

 

“Think about it,” Bucky says. “Don’t answer me now. Hell, talk about that with your shrink. But maybe it would help.”

 

“To make me associate food with sex?” Steve asks with an arched eyebrow.

 

“No, no, with me,” Bucky corrects. He lets go of the wheel to gesture and Steve finds himself watching his fingers move as he speaks. “With how I make you feel.”

 

“You make me feel horny,” Steve says. Bucky breaks into a brief smile and Steve does, too, laughing. “What would you do?”

 

“Well,” Bucky starts. “I got that floor pillow I was talkin’ about. What if I had you kneel for me and fed you, like, fruit and stuff, start small. Kept up that cheesy shit you hate so much so when you feel shitty, you can remember me feeding you and calling you sweet names. You don’t even have to be kneeling, you could sit in my lap or lay down or whatever you wanted. Most submissives like being on the floor over anything else, is all.”

 

Steve opens his mouth and pauses. Bucky did feed him Sunday night when he’d been in shock; it hadn’t been hand to mouth the way Steve thinks Bucky is implying now, but… Perhaps…

 

“I’ll talk about it with Dr. Madini,” Steve says slowly.

 

“It’s just a suggestion,” Bucky says. He reaches over, smiling, and brushes Steve’s cheek with a knuckle. “I just like sweet talkin’ you.”

 

“Shuddup,” Steve grumbles, batting his hand away. Bucky laughs at him, then ruffles his hair and Steve protests half-heartedly, waving at his hand.

 

“I can sweet talk my baby if I want,” Bucky insists to him and Steve grumbles vague threats under his breath, feeling his ears go hot. “I got another idea. You’re my babydoll today.”

 

“What makes that any different from most days?” Steve mutters, blushing furiously.

 

“Because that way I can be sweet to you all I like,” Bucky says happily. He pinches Steve’s cheek and Steve shoves his hand away despite his grin. “You’re gonna be my dolly tonight, sweetheart.”

 

“Cheesy bastard,” Steve quietly protests on principle.

 

“Shush, dolly,” Bucky laughs. “That blush tells me you like this.”

 

Steve ducks his head, wishing he could cover his red ears with his hands but his left hand isn’t allowed to be removed from Bucky’s leg.

 

“What does my babydoll want for dinner?” Bucky asks smugly.

 

“The hearts of my enemies,” Steve grumbles.

 

“Did you say chicken nuggets?” Bucky says, cupping a hand to his ear. “You want dinosaur shaped or penguin shaped, dolly?”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “If you’re buying me kids’ food, I want pizza rolls.”

 

“Pizza rolls it is,” Bucky declares. “Whatever the fuck those are.”

 

“God, you’re so old,” Steve sighs.

 

“I’m thirty-eight,” Bucky reiterates. Steve uses his right hand to flip him the bird. “Ah, ah, no back-talk, dolly.”

 

Steve sticks his tongue out at him. “You’re driving,” he says smugly, “you can’t pinch my tongue.”

 

Bucky holds out his hand. Steve looks at him, then at the road, then at him again and says: “You’re crazy.”

 

“I like makin’ your face a mess,” Bucky tells him happily. He snaps his fingers. “Tongue.”

 

Steve huffs out a laugh, then shifts in his seat and sticks his tongue out. Bucky grasps it between his thumb and forefinger and gives a light tug.

 

“Ya clazy,” Steve says with difficulty.

 

“I’ll let go if I need both hands,” Bucky answers simply. “Besides –”

 

He turns right into a parking garage and stops at a gate. “We’re at my office,” he finishes.

 

“Clazy,” Steve repeats.

 

Bucky shoots him a smile, then puts down his window and pulls a badge from his jacket. He scans it and the gate lifts with a clang. The person in the booth doesn’t even look up. Bucky puts the badge away before taking the wheel again and starting to cruise through the levels of the garage, holding Steve’s tongue the entire time. They go up all eight levels and Steve has drool pooling on his tongue before Bucky pulls into a parking spot.

 

Bucky unclips his seatbelt, then shifts in his seat and raises his eyebrows at Steve. Steve raises his eyebrows back and Bucky just smirks.

 

“Made a real mess there, doll,” he says. He tugs Steve forward by his tongue and kisses him, tongue sticking out and all. Steve grabs Bucky's lapel and tie and digs his nails in, until Bucky lets go of his tongue and curls a fist into his hair to pull Steve back.

 

“What are you going to do with your hands while we’re inside?” Bucky demands.

 

“Hold yours,” Steve answers. Bucky nods and pecks his lips, then opens the center console and takes out a napkin.

 

“Hold still,” Bucky says, though Steve wouldn’t dare move even without Bucky's hand fisted in his hair. Bucky raises the napkin and wipes his mouth and chin off, and Steve leans in again. “You want something, baby boy?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve just nods, shutting his eyes.

 

“Use your words, honey,” Bucky tells him. “What do you want?”

 

“A kiss,” Steve mumbles, his ears heating.

 

“Then you can have one,” Bucky answers. Steve presses forward again and Bucky’s fingers tighten. “I said hold still, dolly.”

 

Steve stills, like he wants, and Bucky kisses his cheek. Steve waits while Bucky trails kisses down his jaw, pulls his head back with his grip on his hair, and just waits. He’s intent on being patient; Bucky will give him what he wants. Bucky always gives him what he wants.

 

Bucky bites at a spot under his jaw, then kisses his chin. Steve parts his lips before Bucky even reaches his mouth, but is rewarded for his patience with a long, open-mouthed kiss.

 

Bucky pulls back and Steve opens his eyes, blinking a few times. Bucky then laughs and Steve makes a face at him.

 

“That undid all the cleaning up I put in,” Bucky says. With his other hand, he taps a spot on Steve’s neck. “That’s gonna bruise.”

 

“Good,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky smiles widely at him. Then he holds up the napkin again. “Hold still,” he chuckles.

 

Steve sticks his chin out and shuts his eyes while Bucky wipes off his face and neck, drying off his kisses. His hand drops a minute later and Steve opens his eyes to find Bucky smiling fondly at him.

 

“You’re so sweet,” Bucky murmurs. He drops the napkin and instead presses his palm to Steve’s cheek. “So pretty.”

 

“‘M not _pretty,_ ” Steve mumbles petulantly.

 

“You’re pretty if I say you are,” Bucky insists gently, then kisses the tip of his nose. “My pretty doll, hmm?”

 

Steve swallows, his heartbeat skipping like a record. Bucky kisses his cheek, the one not held by his palm.

 

“What are you, dragă mea?” Bucky says in his ear.

 

“Your pretty doll,” Steve echoes quietly.

 

“Very good,” Bucky tells him. He kisses his ear. “Good baby,” he says, and Steve shivers in his grip. Then Bucky relaxes his hold on his hair and leaves him with one last peck to his lips. “Wait for me,” he says, and gets out of the car.

 

Steve slumps back against his seat and takes the opportunity to take a deep breath. Then he grins like a lovesick fool and shakes his head at the ceiling. How quickly this game of seduction flipped on his head. Bucky opens his door and Steve takes his offered hand, letting Bucky put a steadying hand on his waist as Steve gets out and steps into Bucky's chest.

 

Steve hugs him tightly and Bucky kisses his hair.

 

“You alright, baby?” Bucky prompts.

 

Steve nods. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

 

Bucky kisses his hair again, letting his hands massage up and down Steve’s back. “No need to thank me, dolly.”

 

“How about I do it anyway?” Steve says. He lifts his face and stands up on his toes to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “Thank you, sir.”

 

Bucky gives him a soft smile. “You’re welcome, honey.”

 

Steve echoes his smile and Bucky reaches up to take one of his hands. He laces their fingers together, then squeezes Steve’s waist before letting go. Steve falls into step beside him as Bucky begins walking toward an elevator, then curls his other hand around Bucky’s elbow and drops his temple onto his shoulder. Bucky turns his head to the side and kisses the top of his hair once, and Steve smiles at the ground. He’s grateful Bucky told him in no uncertain terms that he was not only allowed but encouraged to cling to him. Steve, now that he’s no longer worried about weirding Bucky out, finds clinging to Bucky comforting.

 

Bucky takes his badge back out and swipes it at the elevator. The call button lights up green and Bucky presses it, and almost immediately the doors part. Fortunately, there’s no one in it, and Steve follows Bucky’s lead inside.

 

Of the vast display of floor choices, Bucky presses the button for the 47th floor and leans on one of the handrails. Steve leans on him, and after a second Bucky extracts his arm from Steve’s grip to wrap it around his shoulders. He kisses Steve's hair again.

 

Steve watches the counter above the doors. They were already adjacent to the 8th floor, and the counter rises a floor for every second or two. Eventually, the elevator comes to a halt and the doors chime before parting. Bucky withdraws his arm from Steve’s shoulders and takes his hand before exiting the elevator, and Steve follows a step or two behind him.

 

Steve, looking around, thinks that Bucky’s office is strangely… boring. There are cubicles and men and women in business casual dress working on computers or using phones. Bucky strides down the center of the sea of cubicles to where Steve can see a bank of closed offices. A few familiar looking suits patrol the cubicles, some stationed outside the offices, and Bucky heads for one flanked by two intimidating bodyguards standing at parade rest. Steve looks around, and many of the cubicle occupants are watching them with confusion in their eyes.

 

Bucky scans his badge on the door’s lock, and it beeps and turns green for Bucky to grasp the handle and open the door. He pushes the door open and guides Steve inside before shutting it tightly.

 

“Let’s get this over with,” Bucky says in a tired tone. Steve schools his expression, so as not to be startled by the frightened-looking man – smooth, bald head shining with sweat and heavy bags under his eyes and nails white against his dark skin as he grips the desk – behind the desk or the two bodyguards holding guns to his head. Obviously, this isn't actually Bucky's office.

 

Romanoff is also in the room. She looks at Steve, then raises her eyebrows at Bucky. Bucky ignores her totally and steers Steve to an armchair.

 

“Sit,” Bucky says.

 

Steve raises his eyebrows, too, but drops into the armchair. Bucky squeezes his hand and gives him a look that says _be patient_ before letting go of him. Steve props his chin up on a fist while Bucky pulls the gun from under his jacket.

 

“I don’t even know who you are,” Bucky says to the man behind the desk. “Yet I’m told you’ve been providing access to our books to somebody. I don’t care who you are, I only care who you’re working for.”

 

“Don’t bother denying it,” Romanoff sighs when the man opens his mouth.

 

Bucky picks up a placard on the desk. “Your name is Binter?”

 

The man nods fearfully.

 

Bucky nods and drops the placard back onto the desk. He then reaches across and grabs Binter by the tie, yanking him forward.

 

“I’m a very busy man so you really should be counting yourself lucky that I even had time to attend this meeting,” Bucky tells Binter, slowly beginning to tighten the tie. “Do you got family, Binter?”

 

Binter shakes his head rapidly. Bucky yanks the tail of the tie and Binter chokes somewhat. This is not the first interrogation Steve has sat in on and the sight of Binter's fearful eyes doesn't phase him. The man should've known better.

 

“Shame,” Bucky says. “I might have let you live if you had kids. You didn’t even give important information, you’re a very bad rat, y’know? As it is, you’ve got two choices. You tell me now who you were working for, or I let Natalia take you downtown. Natalia worked for the KGB, did you know that?”

 

“No, sir,” Binter squeaks.

 

Steve stuffs a fist in his mouth to avoid snorting; Bucky doesn’t react at all. He yanks down on Binter’s tie and Binter slams into the desk with a yelp and a crack from his skull.

 

“You should also count yourself lucky that I don’t have time to take you downtown myself,” Bucky tells him. “But I promised my Omega I’d take him shopping, and honestly I’d much rather visit every shop on Fifth Avenue than get my shoes dirty.”

 

Steve smiles behind his fist at that. He likes Bucky calling Steve his Omega. He likes the affirmation that it's true.

 

“You got an Omega, Binter?” Bucky asks.

 

“I do,” Binter whimpers.

 

“Then you know what I mean,” Bucky says. He twists Binter’s tie around and cinches it even further; Binter makes a gurgling noise deep in his throat. “So let’s make this quick and I’ll make sure you’re still decent looking enough for an open casket, spare your Omega a bloody body.”

 

Binter lets out a choked sob and Steve drops his hand and his smile.

 

“Who did you sell those numbers to?” Bucky growls.

 

“A PI!” Binter sobs. “Some ex-cop from the 80’s, I swear, he said he’d get me deported if I didn’t help him!”

 

“I want his name,” Bucky demands and cinches the tie tighter.

 

“Roberts,” Binter chokes. Steve can hear his airway collapsing as he struggles to breath. “Thomas.”

 

“I don’t suppose you have a business card,” Bucky asks.

 

Binter’s hand slaps weakly against the desk. “No,” he rasps.

 

“Where’s he located?” Bucky demands. Binter makes several more gurgling noises. His face is turning darker, blackening. “Where?”

 

“Ravens…” Binter’s voice is getting very faint. “Square…”

 

“Ravensquare?” Bucky repeats. Binter nods his head jerkily. “Is that the street or the practice?”

 

“Practice,” Binter chokes out.

 

Bucky cinches the tie tighter. Binter makes a disgusting noise and Steve jerks to his feet.

 

“Let him live,” he blurts out.

 

Binter chokes on the desk and Bucky lifts his gaze, wholly calm, to Steve’s. “What would you suggest I do to him instead?” he asks. He doesn’t release the tie and Steve grabs Bucky's wrist.

 

“Deport him,” he answers.

 

Binter heaves a wretched gasp as Bucky lets go of the tie, then coughs and slumps on the desk. Bucky looks at him distastefully, then puts a hand on Steve’s chest and pushes him backward. He meets Steve's gaze and raises his eyebrows and Steve crosses his arms under Bucky’s’ palm.

 

“You said he didn’t even give out anything important,” Steve tells him in a hiss. “Clearly, the fool was more afraid of being deported than he was of the family. Where’s he from, Sierra Leone, Cameroon? It’s probably worse there than here.”

 

Binter lifts himself up onto his elbows and gives Steve a long look, panting still.

 

“It would be kinder to kill him,” Steve insists quietly. Probably. Binter doesn’t have much of an accent, only enough that he sounds almost foreign, but the sound of him choking to death was too much for Steve to stand. Interrogations are one thing. This is another.

 

Bucky clenches his jaw briefly, then turns around and flicks his fingers at the bodyguards. They grab Binter by the shoulders and slam his torso into the back of his office chair and Bucky trails his gun on Binter. The man glances between Barnes and Steve, looking twice as terrified as before.

 

“You believe in a god, pal?” Bucky asks.

 

Binter’s gaze focuses on Bucky. Slowly, he shakes his head. Bucky cocks the gun, then uncocks it and spins it on his finger before leveling it on Binter again.

 

“Never a bad time to start,” Bucky says. “Where are you from?”

 

“Haiti,” Binter mumbles.

 

Bucky looks over his shoulder at Steve, then sighs and looks back at Binter. “My fella says it would be kinder to kill you,” he says. He steps back and takes the silenced pistol that Romanoff is holding, weighs it with his revolver and puts the revolver away. “And since I’m such a nice guy, I’ll give you two choices. Your Omega gets a sad visit from the local PD, we regret to inform you Mr. Binter was found dead in an alley downtown, it appears to have been a mugging gone wrong, or the two of you take an extended vacation to Haiti starting yesterday.”

 

Bucky gestures with the gun. “And like I said, I got shit to do. I’m gonna count to thirty and if you don’t tell me you wanna live before then, it’s a mugging gone wrong for you.”

 

Binter swallows visibly.

 

“One,” Bucky says. He levels the silenced pistol at Binter’s head.

 

Several expressions flash over Binter’s face in the next few seconds. Steve steps back against the wall, looking at Binter with hard eyes and hoping he’ll pick Haiti over death.

 

Ten seconds pass. Bucky raises his eyebrows. Binter covers his face with his hands and takes a few wheezing breaths. Another five seconds, and Steve looks away, bracing himself.

 

“Ten seconds,” Bucky says.

 

“Okay!” Binter gasps. “Haiti! We’ll go back to Haiti!”

 

Steve turns back. Bucky gives a nod and lifts the gun, training it on the ceiling to release the clip. He hands both to Romanoff before turning away and grabbing Steve by the arm.

 

“See they’re on a plane by tonight,” Bucky announces in a clear dismissal, yanking open the door of the office.

 

Steve gives a last glance over his shoulder at Binter and wonders if he’ll really be on a plane to Haiti by the end of the day, or if the cops will be going to his Omega with regretful information, anyway. Romanoff looks pissed and the bodyguards look shocked. Bucky pulls Steve from the office and yanks the door closed behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _and that happened. it's still the mafia guys. i'll see you tomorrow with chapter 14, **dragă mea**. leave a comment if you enjoyed this and check out chaos's art from [chapter one](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179382932886/barnes-leaves-his-hand-where-its-barely-touching) and [chapter eight](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179487629801/steve-realizes-that-hes-shivering-bucky-finally) if you haven't reblogged it already. thank you so much for reading an all the birthday wishes, this is your friendly neighborhood angst queen signing off_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Translations from Romanian to English, in order of appearance_
> 
>  
> 
>  **Dragă mea** = _My darling_
> 
>  
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	14. dragă mea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i'm late but i got eleven hours of sleep let's go_

##  _dragă mea_

 

Romanoff catches the door before Bucky can slam it, yet Bucky ignores her, his hand closed on Steve’s forearm as he strides forward. Steve glances at Romanoff and she’s staring right at him; he looks away and shrinks closer to Bucky. He ignores the cubicles as Bucky crosses to the elevator, scans his badge and pulls Steve in when the doors open. Romanoff follows still and Bucky jabs the button for the 8th floor of the parking garage with a finger.

 

As soon as the doors shut, Romanoff rounds on Bucky.

 

“What was that?” she asks neutrally.

 

“I’m not in the mood,” Bucky says sharply.

 

Romanoff glares. Bucky lets go of Steve’s arm and instead pulls him against his side. Steve drops his temple against Bucky’s chest, letting himself be pinned under Bucky's arm. Bucky is incredibly tense and Steve, wanting to be helpful, loops his arms around Bucky's waist and grabs his wrists, locking his arms. Being tactile, like Bucky had done not even a few hours previous.

 

“The hell with your _mood,_ ” Romanoff spits out, all neutrality gone from her body language and tone as she squares up in front of Bucky. “ _What,_ "she hisses, "was that?”

 

“I changed my mind," Bucky says. "Do you have a problem with that, Natasha?” he adds snappishly.

 

“You have never changed your mind like that before,” Romanoff insists.

 

Steve looks over his shoulder and raises his eyebrows at her. She drops her gaze to his briefly before fixing it back on Bucky. Steve doesn't look away.

 

“It’s a day of surprises,” Bucky tells her dryly. “What’s your problem, Natasha?”

 

Romanoff tightens her jaw. The elevator doors open and a pair of office-goers freeze.

 

“Get the next one,” Romanoff snaps at them. Bucky slaps the _close door_ button and the office-goers step back quickly as the doors shut again. The tension in the elevator is unchanged.

 

“Spit it out,” Bucky tells Romanoff.

 

“You don’t change your mind,” Romanoff hisses.

 

“He does now,” Steve mutters under his breath.

 

Romanoff's eight eyes flash angrily at Steve, and Steve remains where he is, leaning calmly on Bucky and returning her gaze levelly. Romanoff narrows her eyes but Steve does not react. He's not afraid of her.

 

“Should you have brought him?” Romanoff asks coldly.

 

“Probably not,” Bucky answers, just as sharp. “But I wasn’t willing to leave him in the car, no more than I’m willing to have this conversation right now.”

 

Steve pats his clavicle. “Don’t worry about me, Buck, I’ve seen worse.”

 

He feels Bucky exhale at that point. A great deal of the tension in Bucky's body flees and Steve squeezes his arms a little, glad to have relieved Bucky of whatever worry he'd had. 

 

“When are you going to have this conversation?” Romanoff demands, however.

 

The elevator doors open again, this time onto the garage. Bucky pushes off from the wall and Steve puts his weight back on his own heels, withdrawing his arms from around Bucky's torso.

 

“Not today,” Bucky tells Romanoff. He pushes Steve out of the elevator and snatches up his hand.

 

“Yasha,” Romanoff calls out angrily.

 

Bucky whips around in his tracks and rounds on her. Steve has to snatch a fistful of his jacket to keep close to him.

 

“Let it go,” Bucky snaps at Romanoff. “Believe it or not, I’ve finally found something that’s more important to me than the family. You of all people should understand that!”

 

Steve tugs on Bucky’s jacket. Romanoff doesn’t say anything, and Bucky withdraws from his accusatory stance facing Romanoff to take his hand and start back toward the car. Steve looks once over his shoulder, and she’s still standing there with a scowl on her face.

 

Bucky yanks open the passenger door. Steve slips into the car and reaches for his seatbelt, but Bucky stops him. Steve looks up and Bucky presses a brief kiss to his knuckles before doing his seatbelt for him. Steve doesn’t protest.

 

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks him quietly.

 

“Fine,” Steve says.

 

Bucky takes a moment to sweep a hand through his hair, then pulls back and shuts the door. Steve cranes his neck to keep an eye on Bucky as he walks around the car, and when he opens the driver door and drops into his seat, Steve reaches out to grasp Bucky's sleeve.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

 

Bucky looks contemplatively at the steering wheel, then pushes the ignition and puts the car in reverse. He looks over his shoulder, again ignoring the backup camera, until they’re in the driveway and he drops his hand and gaze to change gears.

 

Steve puts his left hand on Bucky’s thigh. Then he changes his mind, puts his elbow on the center console and leans over to rest his temple on Bucky’s arm.

 

“I’m trying to put an end to the underbelly,” Bucky announces.

 

Steve lifts his head. He wasn't expecting that.

 

“The shell company’s completely self-sufficient,” Bucky goes on. “We don’t need to keep running illegal goods. I’ve been trying to root out ties with other organized crime families for the past five years. Of course, I can’t do it openly, because the mafia’s the mafia, even if you’re the one in charge. And until I can get all the pieces in place, we have a no rat policy.”

 

“I shouldn’t have spoken up,” Steve mutters.

 

“Nah,” Bucky sighs, “you were fine. Hell, me sparing that kid doesn’t even reflect bad on me, he’ll still vanish by the end of the day with no explanation.”

 

“So why was Romanoff mad at you?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky lifts his eyebrows. “She thinks I’m going soft.”

 

“Does she know you’re trying to legitimize the business?” Steve counters.

 

“She’s always known,” Bucky answers with a shrug.

 

“So what’s different?” Steve presses.

 

Bucky lifts his brows higher. He glances briefly at Steve, then says: “Hand.”

 

Steve puts his right hand on Bucky’s leg, then drops his temple against his shoulder again. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?” he says quietly.

 

“I once told her love was for children,” Bucky says softly.

 

A beat passes.

 

“Well,” Steve exhales. “I do act like a teenager.”

 

Bucky breaks into a brief smile, shakes his head, and Steve considers it an accomplishment.

 

“I look like I'm still 18, too,” Steve adds. “So, if teenagers count… What’s the problem?”

 

Bucky shakes his head. “There isn’t one,” he says. He picks up Steve’s hand and kisses it. “Not a problem in the world, amant.”

 

Steve tips his head onto Bucky’s shoulder and pulls out his phone. He connects with the car again and opens Spotify. He scrolls through his songs for a minute, then hits play on one.

 

 _“I can see what’s happening,”_ comes from the speakers. _“What? – They don’t have a clue!”_

 

“Oh, no,” Bucky groans. Steve laughs at him. “No, no, you don’t understand, Stevie, Sasha is obsessed with this movie, I can’t take any more of it!”

 

“Sasha has good taste,” Steve insists.

 

_“Our trio’s down to two!”_

 

Bucky exhales heavily. “You’re fucking lucky you’re so fucking cute, Steve.”

 

“I know,” Steve answers happily. He makes sure that the queue doesn’t have any more songs from _The Lion King_ in it, though. “Has Sasha seen _Moana_ yet?” he adds.

 

“That’s his second favorite,” Bucky sighs. Steve grins and drags _You’re Welcome_ up the queue to begin next. “And it’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

 

“Hands down,” Steve says. “You kiddin’ me, you seen the effort the animators put into the hair?”

 

“The _hair?_ ” Bucky mutters.

 

“It’s so real!” Steve insists. “And poufy!”

 

“If you say so, doll,” Bucky sighs again.

 

Bucky makes his way through the mid-afternoon traffic out of the bustling business district. Steve looks out the window and occasionally fiddles with Spotify, then a minute before Bucky pulls into the parking lot of the grocery store he remembers that he has unlimited data and spends the time he has left in the car scrolling down Instagram.

 

Bucky puts the car in park and disengages the engine. Steve blanks his phone screen and sits back while Bucky gets out of the car, waiting for him to come around to his side. He pops his seatbelt as Bucky opens his door and holds out his hand. Steve takes it, then as Bucky shuts the car door and locks it, he puts his phone into his back pocket.

 

Bucky tucks his hand into his elbow and Steve laces his own fingers together as they begin to walk. Bucky presents an impressive figure in his sleek suit and Steve, in his ratty jeans and baggy sweater, leaning on his arm probably looks confusing, but this is New York. No one has a reason to look either of them in the face, so nobody gives a shit. Bucky grabs a cart and Steve purposefully holds onto his sleeve. Bucky drops a kiss onto Steve's hair just past the sliding doors of the store.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky murmurs. “Hold on, alright?”

 

Steve curls his arms around Bucky’s elbow and puts his head on his shoulder. “Yessir,” he says quietly.

 

Bucky shops slowly, but Steve doesn’t mind. Normally, he’d be wandering around and with Bucky’s credit card he’d be looking for things to add to the cart, but he keeps his rules in mind and holds onto Bucky’s arm the entire time. Bucky ends up getting pretty basic, boring things; milk, eggs, a package of sliced cheddar, yogurt. Steve eventually takes out his phone and resumes his scrolling on Instagram, keeping a firm grip on Bucky’s sleeve and just following him. By the time Bucky gets to the frozen section, Steve feels rather relaxed for having just followed Bucky around the whole time.

 

“You want ice cream?” Bucky asks.

 

For a second, Steve doesn’t process the question. Then Bucky looks at him and Steve realizes that he even spoke and he gets his bearings back with him.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters, “what?”

 

Bucky takes his arm and pulls him closer. “Ice cream,” he says, then kisses Steve’s forehead. “Want any?”

 

“Um,” Steve answers. “Lemme look?”

 

Bucky nods, then kisses Steve's cheek and changes his grip on Steve's arm to holding his wrist. Steve examines the selection of ice cream from a distance, however, preferring to stand close to Bucky still.

 

“The raspberry sherbert,” he says eventually. “And mint chip.”

 

Bucky kisses his temple before pulling back to get the ice cream. Steve lets his hand follow Bucky’s arm when he moves away, taking a step closer when his reach stretches. Bucky turns back, finding him right behind him, and gives him a smile before side-stepping around him to put the ice cream in the car. Steve just follows him, curling a hand over his elbow and letting his gaze drop. All he has to do is follow Bucky.

 

Bucky goes through the self-checkout and Steve comes back to his senses in time to help him bag the items. Bucky offers him a smile and kisses his cheek when Steve’s put the last bag in the cart, and Steve just grins at nothing before hugging Bucky’s arm. He watches him using the keypad, then gets confused, because he’s holding on to Bucky’s right arm, which means Bucky is using the keypad with his left, but Bucky holds his phone in his right? But he also aimed the gun at Binter with his left hand?

 

“Are you left-handed?” Steve asks.

 

“I am ambidextrous, thank you,” Bucky tells him. He pulls his card out of the chip reader and Steve relaxes his hold on Bucky's arm so he can put it and his wallet way.

 

“That’s really cool,” Steve notes.

 

“Thank you, baby,” Bucky answers. He takes the receipt and folds it up before stuffing it into his pocket. “Let’s go.”

 

Bucky takes the cart and starts pushing it. Steve curls around his right arm, conundrum over and back to the simple mindset of holding on to Bucky. At the car, Bucky uses the key fob to open the trunk and Steve lets go of him to help load the groceries.

 

“I’m gonna put the cart away,” Bucky tells him when they’ve finished, but takes his hand and guides him toward the passenger seat. “Will you be alright on your own for a minute?”

 

“Sure,” Steve says. Bucky raises his eyebrows and Steve wrinkles up his nose before considering it fully. “Hang on,” he mutters and pushes his arms around Bucky’s waist.

 

Steve hugs him tightly, and after a second, Bucky’s hands come to rest on his back and hair.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Bucky says into his hair.

 

“Jus’ gimme a second,” Steve replies. Bucky begins petting his hair and Steve takes a deep breath, then two. He pulls back and Bucky catches his chin.

 

“Thirty seconds,” he promises. “In fact, you can time me.”

 

Bucky reaches around him and opens the car door. Steve folds his body into the car, and Bucky lingers for a second just outside.

 

“Start counting,” he says.

 

“Why am I counting?” Steve counters before Bucky can shut the door.

 

“It gives you something to focus on,” Bucky explains. He reaches inside and taps Steve's chin with a knuckle, then straightens up and shuts the door.

 

“One,” Steve says under his breath. He cranes his neck to watch Bucky push the car away, counting under his breath.

 

He gets to twenty-one just as Bucky pushes the car under an awning and starts walking back at a fast pace. Steve keeps going until Bucky yanks open his door.

 

“Thirty-six,” Steve says.

 

“I was a little off, then,” Bucky answers. He leans across the console and kisses Steve’s cheek before taking his hand and placing it on his knee. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Steve says. He leans on the center console again, putting his head on Bucky’s shoulder and curling his right hand over his thigh instead of his left.

 

“Art store’s five minutes away,” Bucky tells him as he pulls out of the parking space.

 

“When did you have time to find it?” Steve asks him.

 

“This morning,” Bucky answers. “Before I left for work.”

 

“You’re sweet,” Steve says. He swirls his index over the inseam of Bucky’s slacks.

 

“Now you don’t mind,” Bucky chuckles. He turns right out of the grocery store lot, taking a left a block down. “I don’t want your ice cream melting, so let’s not take ages here, yeah? We can always come back.”

“No problem,” Steve says. “I already know exactly what I want.”

 

Bucky laughs. “Good,” he says in reply. “I like a man who knows what he wants.”

 

Steve lets out a snort and whacks Bucky’s thigh lightly. Bucky sniggers smugly, then drops a hand from the wheel to snatch up Steve’s and squeeze it.

 

“You’re cute when you laugh, dolly,” he says.

 

“You weren’t even looking at me,” Steve grumbles.

 

“I still know you’re cute,” Bucky chuckles. “Damn cute, honey.”

 

“Shuddup,” Steve protests half-heartedly.

 

“Aw, you don’t mean that, Stevie,” Bucky answers. He’s grinning broadly, like a lovesick fool. Steve thinks it’s a good look on him. Bucky lets go of Steve's hand and reaches over to touch his knuckles to Steve’s cheek and Steve snorts before waving at his hand. “See, this blush here tells me you’re swooning, dolly,” Bucky remarks.

 

“Shuddup!” Steve repeats, laughing.

 

“Never,” Bucky says happily. He pinches Steve’s cheek and Steve snaps at his fingers with his teeth. “Ah, ah, you wan’ somethin’ in your mouth, you ask nicely, doll.”

 

Steve sticks his tongue out, knowing perfectly well that Bucky will just snap his fingers at him. Bucky glances at him and shakes his head before holding out his hand.

 

“You know what happens when you do that,” Bucky says.

 

Steve puts his tongue back out. Bucky grasps it and gives it a light tug with a smile curling his lip, and Steve shifts in his seat to clench his thighs together.

 

He’s perfectly happy to not linger in the art supply store. He wants to get to the toy store and get home so Bucky can tie him up and shove a vibrator up his ass.

 

Bucky parallel parks at the end of a block and he releases Steve’s tongue. Steve stays leaning on the center console while Bucky cuts the engine, then Bucky turns to him and grasps Steve's chin.

 

“You really gotta learn some manners if you don’t wanna make your face such a mess all the time,” Bucky tells him casually.

 

Steve just grins at him. Bucky lets go of his chin and wipes off his chin with his rough fingers, then runs his hand through Steve’s hair to wipe it clean.

 

“You’re cute,” Bucky remarks, then releases his seatbelt and gets out.

 

Steve leans back in his seat and looks out his window until Bucky opens his door. Bucky holds out his hand and Steve gives him a smile before plucking the shoulder strap of his seatbelt. Bucky arches an eyebrow, then shakes his head with a small smile and leans into the car. As he unclips his seatbelt, Steve presses in and kisses Bucky's neck.

 

“Don’t be playin’ games with me, honey,” Bucky scolds him lightly. He tugs the belt away and takes Steve’s hand, nearly pulling him from the car. Steve smirks, pleased, and puts his arms around Bucky’s neck to lean up and kiss his collar.

 

“No games,” Steve murmurs. “I just can’t wait until you take me home, sir.”

 

Bucky pecks Steve's cheek. “You know what you want,” he says. He shuts the door of the car, locks it, and pulls Steve’s hands from the back of his neck to lace their fingers together. “This way.”

 

Steve, again, curls around his arm as they walk. The art supply store is a minute’s walk from their parking spot. Light foot-traffic mills around them as they walk; Bucky pulls a pair of sunglasses from an inner pocket of his jacket and pushes them on, and Steve looks up at Bucky as a corner of his lip curls up. He puts his temple back on Bucky’s shoulder, then sweeps his fingers up Bucky’s arm from his elbow to curl around his bicep. He gives it an appreciative squeeze and looks up in time to see the corner of Bucky’s eyebrow flick up.

 

Bucky opens the door of the shop and a bell rings above them. A college-age woman behind a register looks up and offers them a smile before looking back at the magazine in her hand.

 

Steve makes a beeline for the drawing section, tugging Bucky by the hand behind him. He finds the oil pastels he wants immediately, then picks out a couple of sketch pads and spiral bound notebooks while he looks for the charcoals he wants. He hands them to Bucky, since he’s not allowed to let go of his hand, and Bucky takes them without complaint.

 

“You can get a couple other things,” Bucky tells him, looking at a set of watercolor markers.

 

“I don’t like markers,” Steve says. He picks up a set of graphite pencils, though. He lets out a quiet _a-ha!_ as he finds the charcoals he wants and puts them in the stack Bucky’s holding. “Done.”

 

“That was fast,” Bucky remarks, raising his eyebrows and a corner of his lip. “You sure you don’t want nothing else?”

 

“Not right now,” Steve answers.

 

“I think they’ve got a nice selection of oil paints,” Bucky tells him.

 

“Buck!” Steve groans.

 

“Oh, my bad, I forgot you got shit to do,” Bucky laughs at him. He jerks his head back toward the front of the shop and turns to go. Steve trails behind him this time, a bounce in his step.

 

Bucky puts the pencils, charcoals, pastels, and sketchbooks on the counter. The shop assistant puts down her magazine and takes the first item in the stack.

 

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” she asks.

 

“Yep,” Steve says.

 

Her name tag says _Demeter_ and Steve wonders if that’s just a hipster nickname or she’s actually named after a Greek goddess. Either way, Demeter scans their things and starts bagging them without really looking at them.

 

“Sixty-two, twenty-five,” she says a second later. “Would you be interested in rounding up to donate to St. Jude’s Children’s Cancer Research fund?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky answers. Steve props his temple on Bucky’s shoulder. Demeter enters a command into her computer and points to a chip reader.

 

“You can go ahead and insert your card,” she recites.

 

Bucky releases Steve’s hand to pull out his wallet. Steve remains leaning on his shoulder, though. Bucky goes through the motions of paying, entering his pin and removing his card when the machine beeps angrily at him, and Demeter drops her hand onto a receipt machine and waits without expression while the receipt prints.

 

“Have a great day,” she says, handing it to him.

 

Bucky pockets his receipt and wallet while Steve takes the bag Demeter pushes toward them. Bucky takes his hand again and heads for the door. Steve aims a wave over his shoulder at Demeter, who gives him a smile and returns to her magazine. Steve turns away again, smiling to himself. He’s gonna have a great rest of his day.

 

Bucky takes the bag from him and puts it in the trunk of the car before opening the passenger door for Steve.

 

“How far is the store?” Steve asks as he gets in.

 

“Halfway between here and home,” Bucky answers. He ducks in and does Steve’s seatbelt for him, then shuts the door sharply and walks around. Steve rests his left arm on the center console until Bucky gets in, then sets his hand on Bucky’s thigh.

 

“Now, I really don’t want that ice cream melting,” Bucky tells him as they pull back into traffic. “So, be thinking about what you want.”

 

Steve tips his head to one side and traces an upper molar with his tongue while he thinks. He has a few toys at his old apartment still, certainly, but nothing fancy. A set of plugs and a vibrator he bought at Spencer’s, since it was cheaper. They get the job done, nothing more. Steve taps his finger against Bucky’s leg, then drops his head against the seat and wonders what sort of selection will be available to him.

 

Perhaps he could branch out from the rubber lined plastic that is his vibrator. And all his plugs are silicon. Steve shifts in his seat to cross his legs and taps his finger against Bucky’s thigh while he’s thinking. He’s always wanted to try glass…

 

Bucky’s nostrils flare and he slowly grins. Steve shifts in his seat again, and abruptly he remembers that Bucky told him to skip the underwear that morning. The fabric of his jeans rub against his ass and a certain warmth shifts between his cheeks as Steve moves.

 

“You alright there, dolly?” Bucky asks smugly.

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Y’know, maybe we should just go straight home,” Bucky offers in a musing tone. “It is kinda warm for November, after all.”

 

“No, no, I’m okay,” Steve insists. He uncrosses his legs and sits up straighter. Bucky’s lips curl and he lets of of the wheel, but not to take his hand.

 

Bucky sets his palm high up on Steve’s thigh. Steve inhales sharply and slouches in his seat, but his knees separate on their own. Bucky chuckles and curls his hand into the curve of his thigh and Steve swallows, his mouth dry. Bucky’s hand is warm even through his jeans.

 

“Can’t have you staining these jeans,” Bucky says conversationally.

 

“‘M not staining nothing,” Steve mutters.

 

“Sure,” Bucky answers. He brakes for a stoplight and turns to face him. He lifts his hand from his thigh and grips his chin and Steve licks his lips. “You’re all horny, baby. I can smell it.”

 

Steve squeezes his thighs together and shifts in his chair. Bucky smirks at him, his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses but Steve imagines that his pupils are dilating.

 

“And I don’t want a bunch of strangers knowin’ my babydoll’s wet,” Bucky says. Steve swallows again. “That’s only for me, honey. You’re gonna have to take care’a yourself before we get there.”

 

“What do you suggest I do?” Steve half laughs.

 

The light turns green. Bucky lets go of his chin to grip the steering wheel again, and Steve is left both baffled and incredibly aroused. Bucky takes a turn, then reaches down and pops open the center console.

 

He takes out a stack of paper napkins. Steve looks at them and swallows heavily.

 

“Clean yourself up,” Bucky says.

 

Steve laughs, his mouth hanging open. “Is that even hygienic?” he mutters.

 

“There’s a trash bag on the back of your seat,” Bucky says. “It’s just slick, baby. Worse it’ll do is make my car smell like sex.”

 

Steve hesitantly takes the napkins from Bucky. He looks at them for a second, then snorts and presses a hand to his mouth, looking around the car. The windows are all tinted except the windshield. No one would be able to see him, but still…

 

“I’m not sharing my doll, Stevie,” Bucky says.

 

Steve takes a deep breath. He shuffles forward in his seat until he’s slouching, then pulls up the hem of his sweater. He pulls the gun holster strapped to his waist a little higher up, then pops the button of his jeans.

 

Bucky reaches over and curls a hand over his thigh again. Steve is trembling, and perhaps this isn’t helping him any.

 

“It is a shame, though,” Bucky sighs. “I hate to have to waste your slick, Stevie.”

 

“You can make it up to me later,” Steve murmurs as he separates the napkins. He glances to his left and finds Bucky smirking, then looks away again and lifts his hips off the seat.

 

It feels particularly lewd to be reaching down the back of his pants with a stack of napkins, while he’s sitting in a luxury car driving through afternoon Manhattan traffic. Steve licks his lips, shutting his eyes tightly, and pushes the napkins between his cheeks. It’s scratchy and rough on his skin, which is tender from the blood rising to the surface and the stretch of the bruising. The napkins soaks through quickly and he pulls his hand out, balling the paper up.

 

The soiled napkin in his hand is pungent, smelling sharp and sweet. Steve takes a glance at Bucky, enough to see that he’s gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles and he’s breathing deeply. Steve, his heart pounding, twists around and shoves the wad of napkins into a bag hanging off the back of his chair.

 

“Good baby,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“Fuck,” Steve says under his breath.

 

He twists around again, and his hole still feels wet. Steve glances at Bucky again, then grabs another stack of napkins and lifts his ass off the seat. He’s quicker this time, the napkin scrapes against his skin and he lets out a soft hiss before tugging his hand back out. He shoves it into the bag hanging off his seat, then collapses against the chair and takes several deep breaths.

 

His left hand feels almost uncomfortably warm and slightly moist. Steve takes a few of the remaining napkins and wipes his hand off, tossing it away when he’s done.

 

Steve glances at Bucky again, then surreptitiously raises his hand to give it a cautious sniff. It’s not nearly as pungent as the napkins, but there’s traces of scent on it. Then Bucky lets go of the steering wheel and holds his hand out.

 

Steve looks between his hand and his own, somewhat confused and still turned on, then places his left hand in Bucky’s palm. Bucky tugs his hand closer and – Steve’s whole throat goes dry and he has to resettle himself in his seat – Bucky presses Steve's fingers against his nose and inhales deeply.

 

“Fuck,” Bucky exhales, “you smell good, baby.”

 

Steve makes a very intelligent noise resembling a faint squawk. “Not helping,” he mutters. “Fuck… Not helpful.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Bucky murmurs. He keeps his grip on Steve’s hand and continues to breathe deeply, inhaling the trace scent of slick on Steve’s fingers.

 

Steve swallows and leans forward to peer under Bucky’s elbow at his crotch, then just swallows again and drops back against his seat when he sees the swelling at the front of Bucky’s slacks. “Fuck me,” he hisses under his breath.

 

“I plan to,” Bucky says darkly. Then he lowers Steve’s hand, putting it on his knee. “But remember, I ain’t sharing you. Cool off.”

 

Steve presses the back of his head against the seat and takes several deep breaths. “How far?” he asks, trying to sound calm.

 

“Five minutes,” Bucky says. Steve takes another deep breath.

 

“Five minutes,” he repeats quietly. He clenches his right hand into a fist and blows his breath out through his mouth hard.

 

A phone rings. Steve looks around, then realizes it’s his and picks it up. Darcy’s calling.

 

“You mind if I answer this?” Steve asks Bucky.

 

“Who is it?” Bucky counters.

 

“Just Darcy,” Steve says.

 

Bucky gives a nod. Steve swipes to answer the call and puts the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

 

 _“Bruh,”_ Darcy greets him. _“I forgot your number changed and whoever has your old one just got some very weird texts from me.”_

 

Steve lets out a laugh and rests his head against the seat. “What’s up, Darce?”

 

 _“The usual,”_ she says. _“Come get ready with me?”_

 

Steve glances at the display to check the time; it’s half past four. For a second, he panics, thinking that he’s two steps away from being tied up and needs to get ready to work, until he remembers that he doesn’t work for Fang anymore.

 

“Can you keep a secret?” Steve says.

 

 _“Uh, yes?"_  Darcy says. _"What kind?”_

 

“I quit,” Steve tells her. “My apartment was robbed Sunday night, my landlord –” he breaks off, then adjusts his story, “– my landlord vanished Monday morning, Rollins kept letting himself in to my apartment.”

 

Bucky gives him a look out of the corner of his eye. Steve ignores it.

 

“Bucky’s asked me to move in with him,” he says. “But that means no more Fang. Ain't too difficult to pick.”

 

Darcy is quiet for a second.

 

_“Already?”_

 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I’m going back to school and everything.”

 

Bucky gives him another look, eyebrows raised. Steve ignores it, too. He’s just saying this to keep Darcy from getting worried.

 

_“I – Wow, Steve. That’s great! Congratulations!”_

 

“Thanks,” Steve answers. “But don’t tell anyone yet. I have to clear out my apartment still, what’s left.”

 

 _“What do I say when Rollins asks?”_ Darcy asks cautiously. _“You know he’ll ask me.”_

 

“I got sick and went to visit family,” Steve says. “And if Rollins says I have no family, then I’m visiting a friend of my mother’s and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

 

 _“Okay,”_ Darcy says, sounding frazzled. _“Okay. Sorry, I just – This is really sudden.”_

 

“Sort of,” Steve agrees. “I mean, that was the plan from the start. Bucky asked me to live with him the first night.”

 

 _“Yeah,”_ Darcy mutters across the phone. _“I guess.”_

 

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” Steve tells her. “It was Bucky’s idea that I go back to school, y’know? And he even wants to help me with my recovery from Ana, he wants to try hand-feeding,” he adds with a snort.

 

Darcy laughs, the sound replicated perfectly by the phone. It was tinny and distant sounding whenever she laughed on Steve’s old phone. In the corner of his eye, Steve sees Bucky shaking his head as he smiles fondly.

 

_“Like, food kink?”_

 

“Ish,” Steve says. “He says that I can associate eating with him sweet-talking me and then maybe it won’t be so bad.”

 

 _“It could work,”_ Darcy chuckles. _“Is he sweet-talking you?”_

 

“All the time,” Steve says firmly. “I swear, he calls me cute names more than my own name.”

 

“‘Cause he likes it!” Bucky cuts in loudly.

 

Darcy laughs again. _“Is he there?"_ she asks. _"Should I give him the shovel talk or what?”_

 

“No, he’s driving,” Steve laughs. “Plus, I doubt it would be effective. Mafia king, and all.”

 

_“I got friends in high places, Steve Rogers, you never know.”_

 

“It’s okay,” Steve says, then grins at Bucky. “I’m sure if he ever does need murdering, I can just stab him in his sleep.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. Darcy bursts into laughter again.

 

 _“You dumbass,”_ she says fondly. _“I wish you the best, sweetie.”_

 

“Thank you,” Steve answers.

 

Darcy blows a kiss across the phone and Steve pretends to catch it, smiling out the window.

 

 _“And you’d better take care of yourself,”_ Darcy adds. _“If I hear you haven’t, I’ll gladly blame it on your mafia king.”_

 

“Yes, yes,” Steve answers. “I’ll still be showing up for movie night.”

 

 _“Oh, you’d better,”_ Darcy answers.

 

Steve has a sudden idea and adds: “And Friday night, could you do my makeup?”

 

 _“Friday?”_ Darcy repeats. _“What’s happening Friday?”_

 

“Bucky’s taking me to a gala,” Steve says. “Something for Stark Industries.”

 

_“Stark Industries? You mean the anniversary gala?”_

 

Steve pulls the phone from his ear. “Darcy wants to know if the thing on Friday is Stark Industries’ anniversary gala.”

 

“Something like that,” Bucky answers.

 

“Something like that,” Steve echoes. “I’m getting a tailored suit made and everything.”

 

 _“Fancy,”_ Darcy laughs. _“Sure, I’ll make you look decent.”_

 

“Thanks,” Steve repeats. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

 _“Probably wither and die,”_ Darcy says.

 

Bucky taps Steve’s arm to catch his attention, then points out the windshield. Steve leans forward and sees a few flashing neon signs, the figure of a pinup woman and advertisements for X-rated films.

 

“I gotta go,” Steve says to Darcy. “I’ll talk to you later.”

 

 _“Ciao,”_ Darcy answers.

 

Steve drops the phone from his ear and hangs up, just as Bucky pulls into a parking spot. Steve looks out the window while Bucky gets out; there’s a meter, and the shop is half a block away. Steve waits while Bucky feeds the meter, then walks around to Steve's side of the car.

 

Bucky opens his door. “Dragă mea,” he says with a smile.

 

“What does that mean?” Steve asks as he unclips his seatbelt.

 

“I don’t think I’ll tell you, dragă,” Bucky answers. He takes Steve’s hand and tucks it into his elbow while Steve closes his door behind him.

 

“I can just translate it,” Steve points out.

 

“You could,” Bucky agrees. “But that would take the fun out of it.”

 

Steve makes a face at him. Bucky smiles and pinches his cheek, laughing when Steve jerks his head away.

 

“You know I’m right,” Bucky says smugly.

 

“I know you’re stupid,” Steve counters.

 

"C'mere," Bucky says. He throws an arm over Steve's shoulders and drags Steve closer, just to pinch his cheek. Steve snorts and tries to shove him off, but Bucky keeps his grip firm on him.

 

“What happened to your good manners, dolly?” Bucky asks him with a smirk. “You was all nice for me earlier. Now you’re acting like a brat again. What happened?”

 

“Aw, shuddup,” Steve grumbles. Bucky laughs at him and just pinches his cheek a third time. Steve quits trying to fight him.

 

“You’re cute,” Bucky says for perhaps the thousandth time. Steve tries to pretend that he isn’t blushing, but Bucky touches his cheek with a knuckle and his finger is particularly cool. “I’m glad I get to keep you, dolly.”

 

Steve ducks his head, though he’s smiling, and Bucky squeezes his shoulders. They reach the shop and Bucky opens the door for him, guiding him through with a hand on the small of his back. Steve lingers in the doorway as Bucky enters behind him, and his eyes slowly widen as he looks around.

 

“Welcome to Dear John’s,” a shop assistant calls out. Steve takes a step forward, taking in the store. “Mr. Barnes.”

 

Steve jerks his gaze away from a display of tentacle dildos to the speaking shop assistant. A tall, pale, and incredibly thin man steps out from behind a counter and bows.

 

“What can I do for you today?” he greets.

 

“Afternoon, Pence,” Bucky says. His hand comes to rest on Steve’s shoulder and gives a squeeze. “We can manage.”

 

Pence bows again. “Please call if you need assistance.”

 

Bucky gently pushes Steve forward as Pence returns to standing behind the front counter. Steve walks where Bucky guides him, toward the back of the store and what he can only guess is the leather section.

 

There’s a whole aisle full of floggers, whips, paddles, crops and more, another with what looks like maybe a hundred different kinds of rope, and even a shelf filled with different gags, but Bucky steers Steve past these to a back wall. Part of it is taken up by costumes, but half is taken up by an array of collars and restraints.

 

Bucky grips Steve’s shoulder, tugging back and Steve stops in his tracks. Bucky steps close behind him, then leans down and puts his mouth near his ear.

 

“I think you should have two,” he says quietly. “One for times like these, when you’re my dolly and I get to be sweet on you all I like. One for when you’re my slut. What do you think, baby boy?”

 

“I’m on board with that,” Steve agrees.

 

Bucky squeezes his shoulder. “Good.”

 

Bucky straightens up and side-steps around him; his hand drops back down to the small of Steve's back and Steve hastens to follow as Bucky approaches a selection of collars.

 

“Let’s see,” Bucky muses. “What does my doll want, hmm?”

 

Steve slips an arm around his waist and leans on him. “Whatever my sir wants,” he answers softly.

 

Bucky’s lips curl up in a smile. He lifts a slim collar from the wall, thumbs at the stitching, and puts it back. Bucky takes a step to the right and Steve follows him.

 

“You need something pretty, I’m thinkin’,” Bucky tells him. He lifts a pink collar with a single finger and lets it drop back against the wall. “I said it’d be blue to match your eyes, didn’t I?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers.

 

“This one looks comfortable,” Bucky says.

 

Bucky picks up a black leather collar studded with purple rhinestones. He weighs it on a finger, then puts it back and snaps his fingers. He bends at the waist and selects a light blue collar, hardly an inch tall and with rounded silver studs, a heavy O-ring mounted in the centermost stud. Bucky lets go of Steve’s waist to release the buckle and hold it in both hands.

 

“What do you think, dolly?” he asks

 

Steve nods and Bucky buckles it again. He takes a step away from the wall, looking around, then takes Steve’s hand and walks toward the other wall. Steve’s confused, until he sees the stack of shopping baskets and Bucky pulls one from it.

 

“We’ll get the tag there,” Bucky adds, pointing to a machine that Steve hadn’t noticed until then. It looks out of place surrounded by the fetish gear, like the owners of Dear John had simply bought the same custom tag maker sold at Petsmart and stuck it in the corner.

 

Bucky wraps a hand around Steve’s upper arm and guides him back to the wall of collars, pulling him to a stop and smoothing a hand over his shoulders almost as if an afterthought. Steve snatches his hand and Bucky pauses, turning back. He puts down the basket and frames Steve’s face with his hands.

 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says, then shakes himself. “Fine, sorry.”

 

Bucky kisses his forehead. “I told you that you aren’t allowed to apologize for this,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

 

“Sorry,” Steve repeats. Bucky brushes at his cheekbone with a thumb, then drops his hands to take Steve’s and kisses both of them.

 

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Just hold onto my arm, alright?”

 

Steve gives a nod and Bucky squeezes his hands before guiding one to his elbow and letting go of the other. Steve curls his hand around the crook of Bucky's arm and Bucky touches his cheek again briefly before picking up the basket again. Steve reaches out and takes it.

 

Bucky gives him a glance, then a smile and kisses his cheek. “You wanna be helpful, huh?” Steve just nods. Bucky reaches up and squeezes Steve's fingers, then turns to face the selection of collars once more.

 

He spends a few minutes looking, and Steve ends up leaning on his shoulder again and just standing there. Finally, Bucky holds up a thicker collar, deep maroon satin overlaid by black lace and framed by leather with spiked studs and a thick O-ring.

 

“There,” he says. “What do you think?”

 

Steve reaches out and runs his fingers over the satin detail. “It’s pretty,” he says. “I like it.”

 

Bucky places it in the basket, then reaches up and taps Steve’s chin. “Now we just need those tags,” he tells him. “And your new toys.”

 

Steve breaks into a grin and ducks his head. Bucky taps a knuckle under his chin.

 

“Look at me, pretios,” Bucky murmurs. “Let me see those pretty eyes.”

 

Steve blushes down to his roots, but lifts his gaze to Bucky’s. Bucky taps his chin again, a corner of his lip curled.

 

“Let’s see,” Bucky begins, “how long it takes you to learn that this –” he taps Steve’s chin a third time “– means make eye contact every time.”

 

“Consider it learned,” Steve answers. Bucky’s smirk grows, then he grasps his chin and pulls his face up. Steve shuts his eyes, but Bucky only kisses his cheek.

 

“Let’s get those tags, shall we?” Bucky says in his ear.

 

He releases Steve’s chin and instead takes his elbow. Bucky walks him back over to the corner, to the custom tag machine, and plants him firmly at his side with an arm around his shoulders. Steve leans into him, putting a hand on his chest and the other in his pocket, and Bucky wakes the machine.

 

“Definitely a heart for my dolly,” he starts. “But what tag for my little slut, Stevie?”

 

“Heart,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky chuckles, but swipes through the screen until he finds a heart he’s satisfied with. He changes the color, then the quantity, then the text and Steve curls a little closer to him as Bucky types in _Property of James Barnes._

 

“Bucky,” Steve says abruptly.

 

“What?” Bucky answers, still typing.

 

“No,” Steve interrupts, reaching up and taking his hand to stop him, “property of Bucky Barnes.”

 

Bucky looks at him, eyebrows drawn together, and Steve shrugs a shoulder.

 

“James is who you are for everybody else,” he says. Then smiles a little and squeezes his hand. “Bucky is who you don’t share.”

 

For a second, Bucky does nothing. Then he lets out a soft laugh, smiles as he shakes his head, and changes the text to _Bucky Barnes_ instead of _James._

 

Bucky has to release Steve's shoulders to take out his wallet and pay for the tags while the machine creates them, and a minute later two shiny silver hearts pop out of the machine, with sturdy O-rings to secure them and still warm. Bucky takes them both and holds them up for Steve’s viewing. Steve grins and hugs him, delighted.

 

“You happy, dragă?” Bucky laughs.

 

“Thrilled, sir,” Steve promises. “I can’t wait to wear them.”

 

Bucky kisses his hair, then tucks the two tags into his pocket and turns Steve around with a hand. “First, you wanted some new toys.”

 

Steve gives a grin and tugs on Bucky’s arm. Bucky laughs as Steve pulls him away from the tag maker, back toward the middle of the store where the sex toys are. Steve peers down the other aisles as he goes, pausing at the row of floggers and whips.

 

Bucky crowds in behind him. “I have plenty of those, dolly.”

 

“Oh,” Steve says. He’s still a second longer, then a padded black paddle hanging from a hook catches his eye and his jaw drops as he moves forward to pick it up. “Wow,” he says.

 

Bucky curls an arm around his waist. “I thought you didn’t want me using paddles on you,” he says with a smirk.

 

“Well, maybe I was just being conscientious about my safety,” Steve answers, lifting his eyebrows. “Now I know you’re legit. And maybe this one wouldn’t be so bad.”

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. He takes the paddle from Steve and holds it up. Etched in blocky reverse letters on the flat surface of the paddle, such that it would leave a mark from being slammed into skin, is the word _SLUT._

 

“I think you just want to try it because it’s pretty,” Bucky remarks.

 

“That may be influencing my opinion,” Steve agrees.

 

Bucky palms the handle and releases Steve’s waist to feel the weight of it. He gives it a few light swings into his palm, then flips it and studies the leather.

 

“This is a nice beginner piece,” he muses. “Sturdy, nice and balanced. I think we can try it.”

 

Steve gives another grin and lifts onto his toes to kiss Bucky’s cheek. Bucky chuckles and places the paddle into the basket hanging off of Steve’s arm, then takes him by the waist again and leads him back down the aisle. Steve gets distracted by a display of sensation play kits on the end of the ropes aisle and Bucky takes a step away from him.

 

Steve puts down a peacock feather wand and follows Bucky. Bucky catches his gaze and smiles, then lifts a length of dark blue rope. Then he holds out his empty hand.

 

“Give me your wrist,” Bucky says.

 

Steve shifts the basket into his right hand and holds out his left arm, the inside of his wrist up. He doesn’t even think about it. Bucky takes his arm, pushes back his sleeve and curls a length of the rope around it, then pauses.

 

He drops the rope and turns to face Steve squarely, lifting his wrist up as his fingers smooth over his skin and Steve forgets about both the peacock feather and the rope and the everything. Bucky’s expression is darkly concerned as his fingers run along a thin white line on Steve’s skin, as it finds the next and the next. They are not obvious, and Bucky has to seek each one out, and the more he finds the greater the concern in his face grows. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, but not in a good way. He should have thought about that.

 

“Is this what I think it is?” Bucky asks softly.

 

“Depends on what you think it is,” Steve mutters. He looks at his feet, not at the faded scars lining his forearm.

 

Bucky takes the basket from him and puts it on the floor. He lifts Steve’s other arm and pushes back his sleeve, but his right arm doesn’t have the same lines.

 

“I’m not ambidextrous,” Steve says under his breath.

 

Bucky drops right arm and takes his left in both hands. He pulls Steve’s wrist up, then kisses the inside of it. Not on the scent gland framed by the veins in his wrist, but on a faded scar just beyond it.

 

“When?” Bucky asks.

 

“Years ago,” Steve sighs. “And I mean years, it was when I was in the foster system. I quit years ago.”

 

“Did anyone ever do it to you?” Bucky presses. Steve shakes his head. Bucky kisses another scar, then smooths his fingers down Steve’s forearm. In a gentler voice, he asks: “What did you use?”

 

Steve looks up and away, then blows out his breath and thinks that he really should have thought more about which wrist he showed Bucky. He hadn’t really been ready to explain this to Bucky, even with everything he’d said. This is something a little more personal, maybe. He’s more ashamed of being the one to take a blade to his skin than he is of starving himself, or not reporting that his foster father used to touch him, or that his mother died because of him.

 

“Same thing everyone uses,” Steve says eventually.

 

Bucky kisses a grouping of scars. He doesn’t look like he pities Steve, which is a miracle. Usually, people notice the scars and go _aw, poor kid_ with their words or their eyes and reduce him to just that, his sob story. Bucky’s not pitying him, at least.

 

“I’m glad it’s been years,” Bucky says. “You’ll tell me, or somebody, your shrink, your friend, if you get the urge to relapse, right?”

 

Steve gives a nod. His gaze drifts up, to focus on a white line right over where the scent gland is. It’s thicker than most of the others, more distinct. It had taken a deeper cut to get into the gland. Even now, the gland is damaged. The nerves are dead and it hardly produces scent. Bucky runs his fingers over it and Steve hardly feels it. He had meant to do the same to his right wrist, but had been caught mid-act. After that, his razors had been taken away from him. There were more blood vessels in the gland, and his former foster father had preferred stimulating the glands in his wrists to the one in his neck.

 

“I’m sorry it happened at all,” Bucky offers.

 

Steve shrugs a shoulder. Bucky raises a hand and palms his cheek.

 

“I’ll never ask you to try knife play,” he says, smiling just a little. Steve breaks into a smile and blows his breath out through his nose, almost laughing. Bucky kisses his forehead and thumbs at the crest of his face. “Thank you for being honest.”

 

Steve drops his gaze and gives a nod. Bucky isn’t asking why he did it, and for that he’s grateful. He’s sure he’ll tell him one day, Dr. Madini has been encouraging him to open up about his trauma and Steve certainly has done more opening up the past three days than he’d done in the past six years.

 

Bucky’s hand slips down and curls under Steve's chin, and Steve looks up on cue. Bucky offers Steve a smile, then kisses the tip of his nose and gives his chin a tap. Bucky looks down to Steve’s wrist again, again reaching back for a length of rope. Steve looks at the rope while Bucky measures it in his hands; it’s on a large wheel, clearly meant to be cut by the length. 

 

Bucky loops the rope around a thumb, then wraps the folded pieces around Steve’s wrist. He takes the loop and wraps it around the two pieces, drawing it back around to create a bind, and pulls the length through the loop on the other side of Steve’s wrist. He pulls it taut and cocks his head to the side, looking at the knot and loop he’d made on Steve’s wrist. The rope is soft and smooth, and when Steve looks for a description, he sees that its silk. It’s also nearly four dollars per foot of rope.

 

“I only have black and red rope at home,” Bucky says. “But you look so gorgeous in blue, honey.”

 

Bucky pulls the loop, and the knot unravels. Steve swallows as Bucky examines the rope itself, the ends and the braid of it. Bucky takes half a step back, looking at the other ropes, then looks up over the height of the shelf and waves.

 

Steve steps around Bucky to stand on his other side as Pence walks over to them.

 

“Fine choice,” Pence says with a slight bow. “This particular rope is hand-spun and every inch of it is guaranteed to be free of frays or scratchiness to allow for the ideal comfort and safety of your submissive.”

 

Steve edges slightly closer to Bucky, unable to help the smile he gets at the simple yet blunt descriptor Pence uses. Particularly, he likes the possessive pronoun. Bucky just holds up the rope.

 

“I’ll need a few bundles,” he says. “Let’s go with a ten, a fifteen, two thirties, and a fifty.”

 

Pence inclines his head. “We have pre-cut bundles of those lengths in the back of the store. I will bring them to the front register for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Bucky says. He hooks the length of rope he’d pulled back on its wheel, then picks up their basket and turns around to put a hand on Steve’s waist. Steve lets himself be pushed down the aisle, then reaches back to take the basket and Bucky’s hand on the other end.

 

“How many things can I get?” he asks.

 

“However many you want,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes. “Rich people,” he complains under his breath.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes, too. “We can always come back,” he reminds Steve.

 

Steve gives a nod and starts wandering toward a _For Him_ section. “They should add a non-gendered section,” he notes as he starts looking at butt plugs. “ _For him_ and _for her_ is so outdated.

 

“I’ll say something to Robards,” Bucky says.

 

Steve assumes that that’s the owner of the store, then picks up a bulbed silicone plug. He gives the end a flick before putting it back, deeming the rubber too springy for him. Bucky nears his back, putting a hand on his shoulder, and while Steve lifts a jeweled metal plug, he picks up a slim but lengthy plug.

 

“This one vibrates,” he says.

 

Steve puts down the jeweled one to take it from him. He gives it a once-over, then Bucky hands him a remote. Steve takes it, then presses the plus button and the plug hums to life in his palm.

 

“They have quite a few of these,” Bucky offers.

 

Steve follows his pointing finger and looks at the selection of vibrating plugs. They range in size and shape, from firm plastic to jelly. The one Bucky gave him is flexible, soft, silky even. Steve thinks it’s a little small.

 

He picks up a flared plug, about six inches in length, thin at the tip and widening at the thickest point so that when Steve wraps a thumb and forefinger around it, his fingertips hardly touch. There’s a plastic ring for easy handling, broad at its end to keep the plug seated firmly. Like most of the vibrating plugs, it has a wireless remote.

 

Steve picks up a sealed package of it and drops it into the basket. Bucky smiles at him and Steve shrugs a shoulder before moving on, careful to keep a hand on Bucky’s, though.

 

He’s looking at glass plugs when Bucky adds something to the basket. Steve looks down, and sees a fairly basic plug, barely three inches long and maybe an inch around at its widest.

 

Before he can open his mouth to complain that it’s too small, Bucky presses a finger briefly to Steve’s lips. “I have plans, amant,” he offers with a smirk.

 

Steve looks at the plug again, then shrugs. “If you say so,” he says, and goes back to looking at the glass plugs.

 

Of plugs alone, he picks out five, not including the small one Bucky added. The long vibrating one, two glass kinds – one bulbed and massive, the other twisted and long – _,_ a black bulb six inches long that will inflate to nearly four inches across and Steve can’t wait to have Bucky use on him, and a smooth metal conical plug with a heart shaped handle and a bright red jewel set in it. Then come the dildos, and of the four he gets, he’s looking forward to the “realistic” knotting toy that’s about seven inches long and bright red that the package calls _the Devil’s Barb_ the most. It’s thicker than Bucky is, with an angular head and broad knot that the package promises will feel like a real rutting Alpha. And, just because he hasn’t tried them before, a set of anal beads.

 

Just as Steve thinks he’s gone wild enough, Bucky drops one more thing into their basket. Steve looks down and his eyebrows shoot up.

 

“A cock ring?” he questions.

 

“Just to start you off,” Bucky says. “I have cages at home.”

 

Steve’s eyebrows lift higher. Bucky takes Steve's waist and kisses his temple.

 

“Not for today, though,” he adds. “I plan on being nice to you today.”

 

Steve nods vaguely. He can think about trying chastity devices later. Bucky gives Steve's waist a tug, starts walking toward the front counter and Steve matches his stride. Pence is waiting, with four heavy looking bundles of dark blue silk rope. He bows his head as they near and Bucky takes the basket from Steve to put on the counter.

 

“Did you find everything you needed today, Mr. Barnes?” Pence asks, calmly taking out the pile of anal toys from the basket.

 

“I believe we did,” Bucky answers. His grip on Steve’s waist cinches down and Steve finds himself having to take a step sideways to stay upright. “Though you might tell John that a gender-neutral section to complement the _his and hers_ parts of the store wouldn’t go amiss.”

 

“I shall inform Mr. Robards of this,” Pence answers.

 

Steve leans on Bucky’s chest and notices for the first time the thin leather choker around Pence’s neck, as well as the small padlock securing it. He tips his head onto Bucky’s pec and idly wonders if Pence’s choker is a fashion statement or a true collar. Bucky wants him to wear chokers like that daily. Maybe they’ll have locks on them like Pence’s. Steve likes the look of the lock, he thinks.

 

Pence maintains a neutral expression as he scans and bags the items in their basket. He gives the sex toys nor the paddle any deference, but pauses to raise his eyebrows at the collars.

 

“Excellent choice,” he offers for the satin and leather collar. “You may find that the height and stiffness of this collar requires your submissive to maintain better posture.”

 

Bucky looks out of the corner of his eye at Steve, and Steve slumps a little closer to him and smiles. Bucky raises an eyebrow and looks away, a corner of his lip curling.

 

“This one is a particular favorite,” Pence says for the pastel blue collar. “For future play, I would recommend pairing it with our kitten tail plug and ears.”

 

“Maybe next time,” Bucky says. Pence inclines his head and puts the collars in nondescript paper bags.

 

“Your total this afternoon comes up to eight hundred twenty-five and thirty-three cents,” Pence announces.

 

For a second, Steve doesn’t react. His brain assumes the decimal is in a different place, and only as Bucky takes out his wallet to pay does the decimal correct itself. Steve’s jaw drops as he looks at the bags with _eight hundred dollars_ worth of sex toys and fetish gear, but Bucky just pushes his card into the chip reader without even a twitch of the eye.

 

Steve’s tempted to put some of it _back,_ but Bucky’s already paid. Pence plucks the receipt from its printer and holds it out to Bucky, then hands him a pen and waits for a second receipt to print while Bucky signs the first copy. Pence hands him his copy, Bucky pushes over the merchant copy and takes the paper bags, and Pence inclines his head once more while Bucky hands one bag to Steve and tucks the other in his elbow.

 

“Have a lovely evening, Mr. Barnes,” Pence says as Steve and Bucky leave.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky answers without turning back.

 

Outside the store, Steve snatches the receipt from Bucky before he can shove it in a pocket. He gapes down at it.

 

“You spent nearly five hundred dollars on rope!” Steve gasps.

 

“It’s good quality rope,” Bucky defends. He plucks the receipt from Steve’s fingers, snatching it away when Steve tries to grab it back. “Ah, no complaining from you, dolly, this is a gift for me.”

 

“But…” Steve mutters. Bucky lifts a hand and tugs on his earlobe briefly before grabbing his waist again. Steve resettles the bag in his hands, looking down into it with wide eyes. Did they really just spend eight hundred dollars on sex toys and fetish gear?

 

If Bucky noticing Steve's self-harm scars hadn’t been a boner killer, the absolute ludicrousness of spending eight hundred dollars on _sex toys_ is completely mood ruining. Steve cannot believe it.

 

“Cut it out,” Bucky says.

 

“You don’t even know what I’m doing!” Steve protests in a hiss.

 

Bucky pushes Steve toward the car, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder and unlocking the car before opening his door. Bucky puts the bag he’s holding behind Steve’s seat, then takes Steve’s bag and puts it away as well. Then he takes Steve’s elbow and steers him into getting in. Bucky leans on the car to look down at him and Steve blinks a couple times.

 

“I am fucking rich,” Bucky says simply. “I make that much money in an hour. So cut out the freaking out you’re doing.”

 

Steve wrinkles his nose, looking down. “I make eight fifty in half an hour,” he mutters under his breath. Sex is expensive, now that he’s thinking about it.

 

“See, it’s not that big of a deal.” Bucky leans in and kisses his cheek before doing his seatbelt for him, patting his knee before he pulls back and shuts the door.

 

Steve raises his eyebrows at the floor, thinking that he only makes eight fifty in half an hour because he’s the only male Omega for sale in New York.

 

Or he was. His time had been for sale, in the past tense, as he’s been bought now.

 

Bucky pulls open his door and gets in, shutting the door again sharply and buckling his seatbelt. Steve reaches over and curls a hand over Bucky's thigh as Bucky ignites the engine.

 

“How much is the rent on your apartment?” Steve asks abruptly.

 

Bucky laughs. He picks up Steve’s hand and raises it to press a kiss to his knuckles and Steve frowns at him in confusion. "What?" he asks.

 

“I own the building, honey,” Bucky says with a grin. “The mortgage was about twenty grand a month until I paid it off, though.”

 

“Oh, my God,” Steve says under his breath. Bucky laughs at him again.

 

“Eight hundred’s nothing to me, baby,” Bucky promises. “You just enjoy your new toys and I’ll be happy.”

 

Steve looks with wide eyes over his shoulder at the bags behind his seat. “I’ll enjoy the shit out of them,” he says. “For fuckin’ eight hundred dollars, hell yeah I will.”

 

Bucky laughs again, kisses his knuckles and squeezes his hand. He has to put his hand back on his thigh and grip the steering wheel again as traffic abruptly speeds up, and Steve finds he dislikes the silence. He pulls out his phone, connects it to the car and scrolls through his songs for a while. He picks a feel-good playlist and just hits shuffle, then slumps to the left to lean on Bucky’s shoulder and shut his eyes.

 

And falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _more backstory! also sex toys being expensive. i'll have chapter fifteen out in a few hours, in the meantime, leave me a comment if you enjoyed this or head over to chaos's tumblr and reblog her art for chapter one and eight. or both? both is good. i'll see you with chapter fifteen, **fuck me and love me**._
> 
>  
> 
>  **amant** = _lover_  
>  **dragă mea** = _my darling_
> 
>  
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	15. fuck me and love me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _and here we go_

##  _fuck me and love me_

 

Bucky squeezes Steve's hand what feels like a minute later and Steve lifts his head, blinking. Then he grimaces and rolls his neck, feeling stiff from slumping to one side.

 

“We’re home,” Bucky offers.

 

Steve gives a nod. Home. He wants to be home just now.

 

“I told Luke and Hunter to help carry the groceries upstairs,” Bucky tells him. “You’re gonna take your new toys upstairs and think about what you’re in the mood for.”

 

Steve nods again, then yawns and twists around to take the paper bags from the back. Bucky gets out of the car as Steve unclips his seatbelt, walks around to open his door and take the bags from him to help him out. Steve adjusts his sweater, tugging down the sleeves, before taking the bags back from him. He hears footsteps and turns, seeing Luke and Hunter already approaching.

 

“Have a good afternoon out, boss?” Hunter asks.

 

“Great,” Bucky answers shortly. “Stuff’s in the trunk.”

 

He pops the trunk with a press of a button and Hunter and Luke walk forward with mildly dejected shoulders to load up on groceries. Bucky helps Steve settle the two bags from Dear John’s in his arms, then pushes him forward to join Luke and Hunter at the trunk in taking out the groceries. Steve ends up just standing there, within arms’ reach of Bucky with the paper bags in his hands, while Bucky and his suits empty the trunk. Hunter slams the lid of the trunk and Bucky jostles bags to lock the car.

 

“Let’s go,” Bucky says to Steve.

 

Both of their hands are full, so Steve walks close to his side as the two bodyguards head for the elevators. Bucky glances at him a couple times, and Steve bumps their shoulders together, offering him a smile. At the elevator, the operator presses the button for the 95th floor and Bucky gives Steve a slight nudge towards the corner. Steve puts his back to it, and Bucky comes to stand beside him, framing him by the walls and effectively shielding him from the other Alphas in the elevator. Steve drops his head onto Bucky’s shoulder and shuts his eyes.

 

When the elevator stops, Hunter and Luke file out and aim for the kitchen. Last night, Bucky had waited there for their return, but this time he simply follows them. Steve trails behind him, and when Bucky reaches the doorway of the kitchen, he pauses to turn around and look at Steve.

 

“Upstairs,” Bucky reminds him.

 

Steve hesitates. Bucky raises his eyebrows, but not in a stern manner, as though asking a gentle question. Steve bites his lip, then turns his face to the side and sticks his cheek out. Bucky’s lips press to his cheek, and Steve takes a step back, smiling lightly.

 

“Go on,” Bucky says. He’s smiling fondly again.

 

Steve gives a nod and makes for the stairs. Bucky vanishes into the kitchen, as Steve heads for the second level and their bedroom. This morning, he had slipped into an existential slump wondering when their bedroom had become _their_ bedroom, and now, Steve simply kicks the door open and drops the two paper bags onto the dresser. He takes a minute to use the bathroom, using nearby baby wipes to make sure he’s thoroughly clean, then wanders back into the bedroom.

 

Steve sits down on the bed, then, wondering what he’s meant to do next. Bucky had told him to think about what kind of mood he was in and what he was in the mood _for_ and Steve isn’t sure what the answer to that question is. He isn’t sure what Bucky means by _mood._

 

In the end, Steve ends up standing up and walking over to the dresser to empty the bags. He places the bundles of rope neatly on the end of the dresser, then lines up the toys and places the collars next to each other. He crumples up the bags and sets them aside to be recycled later, then goes back to standing in front of the dresser, just looking at the sex toys.

 

Steve’s gaze drifts to the collars. One for Bucky’s slut, one for Bucky’s doll. Did Bucky mean for Steve to pick a collar, and from there indicate what kind of sex he wanted? Rough and hard and merciless, or gentle and sweet, like Bucky had been acting all day? Steve tilts his head as he looks at the collars, then picks up the slim blue collar and rubs a thumb over the leather. It’s smooth and shiny, and if he looks carefully he can see himself reflected in the leather, let alone the silver studs. He rotates the collar to look at the ring attached to the front of the collar and remembers that the tags are in Bucky’s pocket still.

 

Steve holds the collar against his chest and looks at the other toys. What mood is he in? As much as he wants to try the _SLUT_ paddle, he doesn’t think it would help his headspace right now. And Bucky said that he wouldn’t use the cock ring on him today, for which Steve thinks he’s grateful. He’s not sure he wants to be even edged tonight, something he usually likes. He looks at the dildos and the plugs, picks up a package or two and puts them back down, and ends up lifting a strand of the silk rope. He rubs it between his fingers, feeling the smoothness and coolness.

 

Bucky had tied his wrists last night and Steve had loved it. He thinks deeper into the idea, imagines Bucky tying down his limbs to the four corners of the bed, or restrained on his knees with his ass in the air, or even suspended, and thinks that he’d love to try each of those things. As a hooker, Steve was usually the one tying people up, but being bound last night had left him feeling secured. He vaguely recalled telling Bucky that it had made him feel controlled, that he had liked the fact that Bucky was the one controlling him, and now he thinks that that’s what it means to him. He’s Bucky’s, to have and own.

 

But right now? Steve feels out of his skin, displaced and disconcerted, and he just wants Bucky to keep being gentle and sweet.

 

He hears a knock and turns around. Bucky shuts the door behind him and smiles, and as Steve starts walking toward him, he crosses to the bed and sits down on the end.

 

“C’mere,” Bucky tells him softly and points to the floor in front of him.

 

Steve walks over and carefully kneels down, shuffling forward when Bucky parts his knees to put his hands on Bucky’s thighs. He’s still holding the collar, which Bucky takes from his fingers.

 

Bucky reaches into his pocket and takes out the two tags. He puts one aside, and the second, he strings onto the ring at the front. Steve watches him work open the link with a thumb, thread it onto the collar and the bands of metal snap as Bucky attaches it. Bucky unbuckles the collar, then holds it up and pauses.

 

“Tell me you want this,” Bucky says with a quiet firmness.

 

Steve lifts his chin to him. Bucky gives him a smile and a nod, and reaches around his neck to buckle the collar around his throat. Steve shuts his eyes, feeling the bite of the leather as Bucky adjusts the buckle, the roughness of his finger as he pushes it between the collar and his skin to check the tightness, and when Bucky stops touching his neck, Steve lets his breath out slowly.

 

“The nice thing about this one,” Bucky begins, a gentle murmur as his hands cup Steve’s face and tilt it back down, “is that it’s water resistant.”

 

Steve nods once.

 

“So here’s my plan, pretty,” Bucky says. Steve nods again, pressing closer to him even as his ears heat up at being called _pretty_ as a name and not an adjective. “We’re gonna take a shower. I’m going to wash my doll, and you ain’t gonna complain that I’m bein’ too sweet on you, honey, y’hear?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers quietly.

 

“I want you to just do what I tell you,” Bucky continues. He reaches up with a hand to pet through his hair as he speaks and Steve lets his eyes fall shut. “You don’t need to be talking, not unless I ask you a question and then I want you to answer with just _yes, sir_ or _no, sir_ or the first thing that comes to your mind. If you need something different than what I’m givin’ you, I want you to use the one to five scale, one is good to go and five is stop unless I say different. I’ll ask you now and then where you are and I want you to answer honestly, honey.”

 

Bucky taps his chin and Steve opens his eyes. “Do you understand?” Bucky asks

 

Steve nods again. Bucky raises his eyebrows and Steve adds a clear: “Yes, sir.”

 

Bucky gives him an approving nod and pushes his fingers through Steve’s hair. “If at any point you need a full stop, what do you say?”

 

“Brooklyn,” Steve answers.

 

“And if you need me to stop and check in with you?”

 

“Jersey?” Steve says. He frames it like a question because he thought _Jersey_ just meant slow down. Maybe that’s the same thing.

 

Bucky nods once more and leans in. Steve shuts his eyes, and Bucky’s lips connect with his forehead. Steve lets out a soft, disappointed sound and Bucky laughs gently.

 

“You’ll get all the kisses you need, dolly,” Bucky says. Steve sticks his chin out, and Bucky’s lips meet his. Just for a moment, a gentle press, then Bucky’s pulling back. “There you go. I’m gonna carry you, baby boy.”

 

Steve nods. Bucky’s hands slip from his head and hair down his back, following the curve of his spine, before sweeping around to cup his waist.

 

“Dolls don’t walk, y’know?” Bucky murmurs in his ear. His hands shift up to Steve’s armpits and he lifts up, lifting Steve off his knees and into the air. Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulders and throws his legs around his waist, and Bucky changes his grip to cradle Steve against his body. “Shh,” he coos, “I got you, honey, I got you.”

 

Steve nods into his neck. Bucky puts one hand under his ass and the other at the back of his neck, squeezing briefly. Steve sighs. The pressure blanks his mind effectively.

 

“I’m gonna get you nice and clean,” Bucky says to him as he begins to walk. “I know it’s gonna feel good, but we’re just showering right now.”

 

Steve nods again. Bucky smooths a hand down his neck.

 

“I’ll tell you what’s happening next in the shower,” he says. His face is turned in, so his lips brush Steve’s ear as he talks and Steve finds himself hugging him tighter for it. “All you gotta do is be good for me, dolly.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve murmurs, even though it wasn’t a question. Bucky just kisses his ear.

 

Bucky’s hand shifts to the small of his back, then he’s lowering him gently. Steve goes to put his feet on the floor and get his weight under him, but the hand under his ass sweeps down to lift his thighs and Steve picks his feet back up.

 

“Putting you on the bench, baby,” Bucky says. Steve gives a nod and Bucky places him on cool marble, inside the shower even though he’s still dressed. Bucky straightens up, then pauses to cup his face and kiss his hair before stepping back. “I’ll be right back,” he says.

 

Steve nods again and Bucky turns away. Steve scoots back on the bench and leans against the wall, watching Bucky walk away. He opens a cupboard and riffles through it for a moment, then pulls back with something in his hand. Bucky walks back into the shower, into the center, and unfolds a chair. Steve raises his eyebrows, wondering why Bucky would have a shower chair, but doesn’t ask. Bucky walks back over to him and brushes through his hair a moment.

 

Then he kneels down and puts his hands at Steve’s hips.

 

“Arms up,” he says gently.

 

Steve obeys. He raises his arms above his head and Bucky lifts the hem of his sweater, standing up to get it over his head. Bucky shakes it out and walks away to drop it into the laundry hamper, and just walks back. He unbuckles the gun holster strapped to Steve's waist, takes it away and sets it on the counter, popping out the clip of the gun and clearing the chamber with a yank on the barrel as he does. Again he walks back, and this time sits down next to him.

 

Bucky lifts his knees off the bench, and at the same time puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes. Steve swings his legs over Bucky’s lap and lies back, placing his arms under his head as a cushion. Bucky slips the switchblade from his pocket and puts it in his jacket, then undoes the button of his jeans. Steve lifts his hips for Bucky to slip the jeans down his ass, and relaxes again as Bucky pulls them off his ankles.

 

Bucky lifts his knees again, stands up and lays his legs down on the bench. Steve lets his heels slip forward until he’s laying flat with his feet hanging off the end of the bench, and Bucky again drops Steve's clothes into the hamper.

 

Steve is left naked but for the collar around his neck declaring him the property of Bucky Barnes. A light hum starts up in the back of his head. He loves this feeling.

 

Bucky returns a third time and bends to kiss his forehead. Steve gives him a smile as he straightens back, then raises a hand to loosen his tie.

 

“You’re bein’ a good doll for me, baby boy,” Bucky tells him matter-of-factly. “You keep this up and I’ll give you somethin’ special.”

 

Steve nods. He relaxes on the bench, feeling light and pliable under Bucky’s soft gaze. With nothing expected of him but to obey, to listen, he feels free.

 

Bucky pulls his tie free and reaches down to brush at Steve’s cheek with his knuckles. Steve tilts his head up and to the side slightly, exposing his cheek to him and his soft touches. He sees Bucky’s smile in the corner of his eye and copies it. When Bucky pulls back, he looks to the left and watches Bucky step out of the shower and take off his jacket. He puts his phone and wallet on the sink, sets his jacket over the toilet lid and takes off the holster from his shoulders. Steve watches him pull his shirt free of his trousers, watches him take off his cufflinks and undo the buttons of his shirt. Bucky glances over at Steve and smiles at him as he drops his shirt into the hamper and pulling off his singlet.

 

“How you doin’, baby boy?” Bucky asks him.

 

“Good,” Steve murmurs.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows as he unloops his belt. “Scale of one to five, remember?” he says.

 

“One,” Steve corrects.

 

Bucky gives a satisfied nod and looks down to pull his belt free. Steve licks his lips while Bucky puts his belt aside.

 

He watches Bucky’s fingers move, the way he pops open the button of his slacks with a twist of his thumb and forefinger, as he grips the waistband to tug down the zipper. Steve loves Bucky’s hands. His fingers are thick and knuckles knobbly, his thumbs stick out, almost too long, the backs of his hands are broad with the bones and veins prominent, and the calluses on his hands are visible even from a distance. Bucky lets his trousers hang open as he tugs off the rings on his hands, unstraps his watch and sets it down, and Steve watches Bucky's fingers moving. The first thing he’ll draw with his new charcoals will be Bucky’s knobbly hands.

 

Then Bucky pushes down both his slacks and his boxers, and Steve thinks a vague amendment; the first thing he’ll draw is Bucky as a whole. As Bucky separates the two items and folds them over an arm, Steve traces the lines of his muscles down his body with his eyes. His knees are as knobbly as his knuckles, his ankles are sharp and his toes poke up at the middle joint. Bucky puts his pants and underwear in the hamper and Steve takes in the soft hairs lining Bucky's body. Steve had gotten to feel Bucky’s skin under his palms the first night, when Bucky had let him blow him in the shower, but his skin had been wet then. Steve wonders if the light layering of hair over his thighs and calves is soft; the curls at his groin are coarse, but the trail down his stomach and smattering over his pecs is soft. Steve's gaze slips back to his hands and wonders what his bare forearms feel like.

 

Bucky takes a jar down from the rack over the toilet and pulls a hair elastic from it. He puts the jar down and then pushes back his hair and Steve watches in awe as Bucky ties back his hair. He doesn’t pull the tail through the last loop of the elastic and it hangs in a sloppy bun at the top of his head, and already slight strands are escaping to lie over his temples and the back of his neck. The gray in his hair shines as Bucky walks toward the shower under the white fluorescent lights.

 

Bucky reaches him and Steve tells himself that he’s entranced with what would normally be flaws because he misses drawing so much, but as Bucky takes his hands, he knows he’s only lying to himself.

 

Well. He only promised to be honest to Bucky.

 

Bucky pulls on his hands and Steve sits up, swinging his legs off the bench. He goes to stand up and Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

 

“Now, honey,” he says, then smiles, “dolls can’t walk, can they?”

 

Steve opens his mouth with the intention to say _possessed ones do_ and shuts it again. Instead, he says: “No, sir.”

 

He's no demon doll, he's Bucky’s pretty babydoll.

 

Bucky lifts the hand from his shoulder to touch his cheek. “Good baby,” he praises softly, and Steve grins. He presses his cheek into Bucky’s hand. “There’s my sweet dolly,” Bucky murmurs and Steve’s cheeks heat. “You blush so pretty, Stevie.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve mumbles.

 

“I’m jus’ makin’ an honest-to-God observation,” Bucky tells him with a flick of his eyebrow and a smile. “No need to thank me for pointing out the obvious.”

 

Steve drops his gaze as he blushes harder. Bucky’s hand drops again, and he knocks a knuckle under Steve’s chin.

 

“Look up, honey,” Bucky says, but Steve is already lifting his gaze. Bucky smiles at him with his eyes, crows’ feet growing and Steve reaches up without thinking to touch his face.

 

Bucky puts a hand on his wrist and squeezes, then lets go to put his hands under Steve’s arms. This time Steve is prepared for it and Bucky lifts him off the bench like a doll. Bucky lays him against his shoulder and circles his arms around his body to cradle him like a doll. Steve hugs his neck and wraps his legs around Bucky’s hips, then shivers and clings to him harder at the hot press of skin against skin.

 

“Shh,” Bucky murmurs, sweeping a hand down his back. “We’re only showering right now, baby.”

 

Steve lets out his breath but doesn’t complain about it. Bucky turns, then lowers Steve into the shower chair. Steve looks down at it as Bucky takes a step back to turn on the shower, flinches at the backsplash of cold water when the rainfall showerheads come to life. Bucky walks to a metal shelf in the corner and Steve watches him walk, even as the water heats up and steam fogs up the glass. Bucky’s muscles are taut under his skin, his back ripples as he bends and his glutes tighten up while he moves and the tendons in his knees stick out when he crouches down.

 

Bucky straightens up and walks over, soap bottles in hand, and Steve tips his head to the side, wondering if Bucky will tell him why he’s in a mobility assistance chair. Bucky puts the soaps on the marble bench, out of reach of the water, and takes the arms of the shower chair in hand.

 

“Hold on,” Bucky says, then drags the chair under the water. Steve grabs the metal arms of the chair, but Bucky is nearly picking it up and the chair doesn’t skid as it moves. The water warmed quickly, and Bucky positions the chair in the center of it.

 

Steve tips his head back, letting the water quickly soak his hair. The water runs down his face, and at his neck, curves in rivulets over and under his collar. The metal tag hangs over the dip of his clavicle, almost a sharp point, and the water parts around it.

 

Bucky’s hands come to rest on his shoulders and Steve lifts his head, opening his eyes.

 

“I’m going to wash you now,” Bucky tells him. “You, sweet boy, are just gonna sit here and be a good doll for me.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers. Bucky picks up his left hand and turns it over to drop a kiss onto his palm. Steve tips his head to the side as he smiles at Bucky, then Bucky pulls his arm out further and kisses the nerve-dead scent gland in his wrist.

 

Anyone calling attention to the scars on his arm usually has Steve closing off, pulling back and withdrawing from them in general. Bucky kisses each scar down Steve’s left arm and Steve loses his ability to breathe.

 

“How are you, baby?” Bucky murmurs, his lips still touching Steve’s forearm.

 

“One,” Steve exhales.

 

Bucky sets his arm down and reaches up to cup and kiss his face. He steps away, and Steve slumps in the chair. He doesn’t have to do anything at all.

 

Bucky returns with shampoo. He pours it into a palm, lathers it into Steve’s hair and Steve simply melts into the chair. Bucky’s nails scrape gently against his scalp, his fingers massage the shampoo into his hair. His hands work over every bit of Steve’s scalp, from hairline to nape, and Steve’s eyes fall shut. The soap runs off eventually, since Steve is still under the water, and Bucky keeps massaging his scalp long after.

 

“Here’s my plan, dolly,” Bucky says. He pulls the chair out from under the water, and the shower is so steamed up that Steve hardly feels the change in temperature. “I’m gonna get you all clean, then I’m gonna plug up your ass with your new vibrator and turn it on low.”

 

Steve shifts in the chair, squeezing his thighs together. Bucky’s hands grasp his knees and force him to still.

 

“I’ll only turn it on low,” Bucky tells him. “And then I’m gonna use some of that nice silk rope that I bought and bind your wrists. You’re gonna kneel on that floor cushion and I, my pretty baby, am gonna give you a massage.”

 

Steve opens one eye to squint at him. Bucky gives him a grin and picks up conditioner.

 

“Now, you won’t get to come until you’re nice and relaxed,” he says as he squirts conditioner into his palm. “It’s not a good idea for you to go back into subspace so soon after dropping, but I can get your head and body nice and quiet. And after I’ve massaged you, we’ll see what happens next.”

 

Steve squints at Bucky. Bucky only smirks, because he clearly has a plan for what happens after massaging Steve. Steve feels the urge to complain, and Bucky raises his eyebrows when Steve opens his mouth as if to ask him what he thinks he’s doing. Steve shuts his mouth again. Pretty dolls don't talk.

 

Bucky gives an approving nod. He starts working the conditioner into Steve’s hair, and at the return of his touch Steve melts once again, Bucky’s hidden plan forgotten.

 

Steve sits slumped in the chair. Bucky takes body wash to his skin with bare palms, gentle even with his rough skin. He washes Steve’s hands, his wrists, up his arms to his neck and shoulders, over his chest and the sides of his ribs back up to his armpits, and Bucky moves him every time he needs him to, so that Steve hardly has to budge. Steve watches his intense concentration with lidded eyes and just smiles to himself while he’s under Bucky’s gaze. His attention is gratifying, better now that Steve knows that he earned it. It’s more satisfying now that he knows Bucky became fixated on him before he lusted for him. Bucky washes down his chest, pulling him forward from the chair to wash his back, and runs his soaped up hands over the tops of his thighs. He kneels down on the marble floor.

 

Bucky looks up, making eye contact, then pulls apart his knees and runs his palm inside Steve’s thigh. Steve inhales sharply, then slouches forward to push his hips up and out. Bucky’s gaze is fixed firmly on Steve’s body, he looks enchanted and transfixed, and even while his fingers are gentle there’s a predatory spark in his first frost of winter eyes.

 

Bucky’s fingers push farther up his thigh and Steve spreads his legs, his tongue slipping out to sweep across his lower lip, and Bucky retracts his hand to wash the back of his knee. Steve lets out his breath in disappointment and Bucky shoots him a smile.

 

“Patience, dolly,” he murmurs. He massages almost down Steve’s calf to his ankle, then sweeps around to wash his foot. “One thing at a time.”

 

Steve nods once, swallowing hard. Bucky washes his toes with a devoted reverence, then reaches down to pour more soap into his palm. Bucky takes his other foot and gives it the same careful treatment, then goes up at his ankle with gentle-yet-rough fingers. As his hands near his thighs again, Steve’s breathing picks up.

 

Bucky lifts his knee to wash down the back of his thigh, then sweeps his palm in and up. Steve lets out a quiet noise, shifting forward in the chair. Bucky shoots out a hand to press down on his stomach and Steve stills.

 

“Patience,” Bucky repeats. “I’ll give you what you need, baby boy, don’t worry.”

 

Steve nods again. Bucky pulls the hand away from his stomach and palms his knee. He simply continues with his task, lifting his other thigh and washing the back of it, dragging him back under the water to rinse off the soap and putting him back just past the water’s edge even with the same intense concentration that makes Steve think – or hope – that the wolf is plotting his chance to pounce.

 

Bucky stands up and places the body wash aside. He puts his hands under the water to rinse them, then turns around and comes to stand in front of Steve. He takes Steve's jaw and rubs a thumb along his face, eyes calculating. Steve swallows hard.

 

“There’s only one thing left to do to you,” Bucky says. “I think you know what it is.”

 

Steve shifts in the chair and nods. Bucky sweeps his thumb over his cheek again.

 

“I’m gonna need a little more patience from you, dolly,” Bucky tells him calmly. “Then you can have a treat. Clear?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve says through his dry mouth.

 

Bucky bends at the waist and kisses his cheek with gentle lips, and Steve turns his head to the side, his mouth hanging open and his eyes shut. But instead of Bucky’s lips, he gets two fingers pressed to his lower lip.

 

“Suck,” Bucky murmurs in his ear.

 

Steve ducks his head to get the fingers on his mouth. They taste sharp, bitter and almost metallic, probably traces of the soap, but Steve pulls them into his mouth anyway. He runs his tongue over both of them to get them wet, then presses it flat underneath them and slots the metal stud in his tongue between Bucky’s fingers and pulls back. He nearly pulls off but stops at the first joint to close his lips over them and curl the tip of his tongue under their rough pads and suckle on them rhythmically. Steve turns his head to the side and mouths down the length of Bucky’s index finger, licks at his hand and finds the taste of his skin growing salty.

 

Steve can smell Bucky, his growing arousal and it makes his toes flex on the lower rung of the chair. He grips the arms of his chair and resettles his weight, feeling a wetness that isn’t water smoothing between the cheeks of his ass. He mouths back up Bucky’s fingers with a thirsty tongue like it’s actually his cock, and just as he parts his lips to suck his ring finger into his mouth, Bucky grips a fist in his hair and pulls his hand away.

 

“You gorgeous thing,” Bucky exhales in his ear. “Look at you, baby boy, them lips are fucking sinful.”

 

Steve tips his head back in Bucky’s grip, nodding quickly, and Bucky bends to bite a spot on his neck before kissing it.

 

“Such a pretty doll,” Bucky coos into his neck. “Now, if you can just be patient a little longer, there’s more where that came from.”

 

Steve lets out a whimper and Bucky kisses his neck. He releases his hair and pulls back, and Steve forces his eyes open as Bucky steps away from him.

 

“How you doing, sweet thing?” Bucky asks him calmly. He’s picking up the body wash again and ducking under the water's spray. “Scale of one to five.”

 

“Two,” Steve mutters. Bucky puts down the bottle of soap immediately and walks back to him. He takes the arms of the chair and drags him to the water, and Steve straightens his posture to present his cheek to him. Bucky kisses his cheek tenderly, and when he pulls away, Steve slouches again.

 

“Now?” Bucky asks softly.

 

“One,” Steve says.

 

Bucky kisses his cheek a second time, straightens up and picks up the body wash. Steve watches him pour it into his palm and begin to lather it over his skin. On a whim, Steve reaches out and catches his hand.

 

Bucky gives pause to step into his space and Steve asks: “Can I?”

 

Bucky tips his head to the side. Then he bends to pick up the body wash and takes Steve’s hand with careful fingers. He pours the soap into his palm and Steve takes a second to watch the water put dents in the gel before pressing his palms together and working it into a lather. Bucky puts his hands on the rails of the chair and leans in, so when Steve looks up, he’s nose-to-skin with Bucky’s chest.

 

“Go ahead, dolly,” Bucky murmurs.

 

Steve takes the soap to Bucky’s pecs. He's slow, using his fingers as much as his palms, and begins to map out Bucky’s skin under the barely concealed pretense of washing him. Bucky’s arms frame him in place, his head tilted down to watch, and Steve runs the soap over Bucky’s torso. His fingers find the subtle changes between his ribs. They slip between the crevices of his abdominal muscles.

 

There’s a long, jagged scar just under his sternum; clearly old and reduced to a thick line. Steve’s surprised that he didn’t notice it before, but it then again, it lies almost within a line of muscle, nearly camouflaged in the natural topography of Bucky’s body. Steve wonders where it came from. He looks closer, with intent, and finds other, old scars. A knot of a scar just above Bucky’s hip on the right side. A short, crooked line on his left shoulder. A raised scar on his ribs just under his arm, that feels like it would be easily visible if Steve had ever taken the time to look at Bucky’s underarms. He wonders if there are others, and again, what their stories are.

 

Steve slides his hands around to Bucky’s back, feeling for more scars, and he looks up as his hands follow the line of his spine. Bucky’s eyes fix on his instantly. His pupils are blown.

 

Steve swallows and Bucky tips his head to the side. Steve looks down, knowing that he has to be patient, and sweeps his hands over Bucky’s shoulders. The soap is nearly run out and as his hands fall back to his chest, Bucky reaches up and takes his wrists.

 

“Sweet boy,” Bucky murmurs. Steve flushes even with the hot water cascading down his body, and Bucky lets the soap run off his palms before kissing both. “Thank you for that, babydoll.”

 

Steve’s mouth is dry as he nods. Bucky releases his hands to take the soap bottle again and finish washing himself. Steve’s gaze eventually follows the lines of hair trailing down Bucky’s torso. He wants his treat now.

 

Bucky puts the body wash away. Steve sits up straighter, waiting, yet Bucky picks up another bottle before turning back.

 

“You know what this is?” Bucky asks him.

 

“Baby shampoo, sir,” Steve says. Bucky cups his face and kisses his cheek and Steve relaxes a little.

 

“What am I going to do with it?” Bucky murmurs in his ear.

 

Steve blinks. Then, amazingly, he flushes. “You’re – _You’re_ gonna –”

 

“You can say it,” Bucky tells him. “I’m getting my babydoll clean, honey.”

 

Steve laughs nervously and shakes his head. “You’re gonna clean me,” he says awkwardly. “Down… There.”

 

“Yep,” Bucky answers.

 

“Shouldn’t I do it?” Steve mutters.

 

“Nah,” Bucky says. He kisses Steve's cheek again and leans back. “Scale of one to five, dolly.”

 

Steve swallows once more. This is awkward; it’s something that’s usually arousing but where cleaning is concerned, Steve has never had anybody else soap up his ass. He's already incredibly articulate about his own anal hygiene, it came with his job, but the farthest he's gone to enlist an outside party’s assistance is for waxing and that was only because he kept hurting himself doing it by himself. Even then, he only gets Darcy’s help. This is a different level of intimate.

 

But… _They_ are on a different level of intimate. As in, legitimately intimate. Bucky’s not his client.

 

“One,” Steve says finally. “Maybe one and a half.”

 

Bucky offers him a smile and holds out a hand.

 

“Up, dolly,” he says. Steve slips off the chair and Bucky takes his waist to steady him even though Steve isn't swaying. “Turn around.”

 

Steve shuffles around. Bucky takes one of his hands and puts it on the seat of the chair and Steve follows with his other hand. He grips the seat with both hands and is already widening his stance when Bucky’s foot taps his ankle.

 

“Good baby,” Bucky praises him gently. A palm presses to his ass and Steve puts his forearms on the chair, bending over more for him. Bucky drops a kiss onto his spine and Steve looks over his shoulder in time to see Bucky kneeling down.

 

Steve looks away again, swallowing. Bucky’s hands cup his ass and spread his cheeks, then one pulls away and a second later a cold finger presses between his cheeks.

 

“Speak up if your number changes,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve hangs his head, blowing out his breath as the soap starts to tingle, but it still feels like lube and Steve's heartbeat is doing its harsh bass beat again. Bucky spreads the soap around, then lightly presses with a fingertip to his hole and Steve shuffles his feet. He tries not to think that Bucky is on eye-level with his ass, that he could easily move forward and start tonguing his rim, and the hand on his ass shifts to stroke his hip.

 

“Easy now, babydoll. Relax.”

 

Steve gives a nod, but that’s the thing, he’s great at relaxing. His ass can go from virgin tight to loose and wet in five minutes, but it’s all an act and involves more yoga than arousal. Steve is great at relaxing. This, though, this is just plain arousing.

 

Bucky’s fingertip swirls over his hole and probes gently into it. It’s fucking _soap,_ Bucky is washing out his ass, the soap tingles even mild as it is and Steve keeps telling himself that, yet he’s reacting nonetheless. Bucky has to release him and pull his hand away to add more soap and already Steve can feel his body’s own natural fluids pushing the soap out.

 

“Shh,” Bucky murmurs. “What’s your number?”

 

“One,” Steve says under his breath.

 

Bucky’s finger slips out and then back in, deeper, and Steve lets out a quiet sound.

 

“I’ve got a douche,” Bucky tells him as his finger gently probes farther and farther. “I’ll get you nice ’n’ clean, honey. When we’re done here, I’m gonna dry you off and plug up your pretty little hole.”

 

Steve shifts on his heels, pressing his forehead into his arms. Bucky’s grip tightens on his hip as his finger sweeps deeper.

 

“Shh,” he coos again, “not long now, honey, just gotta be patient a minute more.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve mutters. He can be patient. He resettles his weight and lifts his head up to swallow, then Bucky’s finger swirls slowly, spiraling deeper and he breaks off to suck in a breath. “Sir,” Steve mumbles, “sir, please –”

 

“Shh, shh,” Bucky answers, and his finger slips free. Steve only whines. “I’ve got you, babydoll, just a minute.”

 

Bucky strokes up his hip, then with both hands as he stands up and drops a kiss onto his spine. “I’ll be right back,” he promises. “Just stay still.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve says. Bucky kisses his shoulder, then withdraws from him. Steve adjusts his stance a little, folding and unfolding his fingers, then Bucky’s hand spreads over the small of his back and sweeps down to cup his hip.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky tells him sweetly, “such a pretty boy, Stevie.”

 

Steve loses tension from his shoulders he didn’t know he’d gathered. Bucky kisses the back of his neck, then does it again and Steve shudders as he starts to suck a mark into his skin. The soap, even though it’s baby shampoo, still bites in his ass; then Bucky shifts to stand behind and over him, body blanketing his as he sucks marks new into his neck and Steve can forget about the soap tingling on his skin. He whimpers and pushes back against him, and Bucky just crowds in closer.

 

Steve feels enveloped, absolutely delighted to be covered so fully, and the weight of Bucky’s body makes him forget that this isn’t even sex yet.

 

“Fucking hell, babydoll,” Bucky murmurs into his ear, “this neck so pretty, I don’t get why I ain’t on you like a dog every fuckin’ second of the fuckin’ day, sweetheart.”

 

Steve just pushes back against him, soaped up ass and all.

 

“I’m gonna leave this pretty neck a mosaic a’color, honey,” Bucky promises him sweetly. “Gonna leave so many damn marks you can’t see what color it was s’posed to be.”

 

“Please,” Steve murmurs.

 

Bucky makes a low, gravelly sound deep in his throat – Steve can feel it vibrating in his chest where Bucky’s body blankets his – but pulls back and runs his hands down Steve’s sides to his hips. Steve looks over his shoulder again, and watches as he picks up a silicon douche and palms his asscheek in the other hand.

 

“You ready, dolly?” Bucky asks him. Steve gives a nod and looks away, letting his head hang over his arms.

 

Still, he winces at the cold nozzle of the douche. The soap doesn’t allow much lubrication and with it dissolving any slick his body is making, the nozzle bites into tender skin as Bucky gently works it in. Steve shifts his heels, trying to relax, and Bucky shushes him softly, rubbing his hip. At least the water is warm. Steve is, by now, accustomed to the feeling of douching, and it’s a relief when Bucky retracts it.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky tells him, “just stay relaxed, it’s just water.”

 

Steve, though, pushes himself up a little. “Lemme stand under the water,” he says, and Bucky takes his hands when he lifts off the chair.

 

“Hold onto me, dolly,” Bucky says and Steve wraps an arm around his waist.  

 

He’s a little bit lightheaded, both from the heat of the air and bending over and the fact that his blood is shitty; he’s iron deficient. Bucky shuffles them around until they’re standing in the spray of water again, and Steve leans on his chest while the water drains from his body.

 

“I dunno why you didn’t want me to do it,” Steve mumbles, his lips brushing Bucky’s skin as he speaks. “‘S not very sexy.”

 

“I wanna take care of my baby,” Bucky answers quietly. Steve shivers and hugs him tighter. “You like hearin’ that, don’tcha, honey?” he adds in a purr and Steve nods against his chest. “You’re my pretty baby, aren’t you, Stevie?”

 

Steve shifts to press his forehead into Bucky’s chest, hiding his face, until Bucky’s fingers slip under his chin and lift his face up. Bucky smiles down at him, first frost eyes with crows’ feet at the corners, and Steve reaches up just to press a hand against his cheek.

 

“You’re my pretty baby, Stevie,” Bucky says happily and holds Steve’s chin firmly when he gets the urge to duck and hide his face. “Aw, don’t be shy, baby, lemme see them gorgeous eyes, huh?”

 

“They’re just eyes,” Steve mutters.

 

“Don’t talk back at me, baby,” Bucky scolds him lightly, tapping his chin with a thumb and still smiling. “I say your eyes are gorgeous, so they’re gorgeous. Took me ages to decide what kinda blue they are, honey, they’re so pretty.”

 

Steve’s ears are red again and Bucky’s grip is firm on his chin, otherwise he’d avoid eye contact by hiding his face.

 

“They’re like starlight,” Bucky says softly. He releases Steve’s chin, to reach up and brush his cheek with his knuckles. “Guiding me home, sweetheart.”

 

“Now you’re jus’ bein’ sappy,” Steve says hoarsely.

 

“Nah,” Bucky murmurs. “Just pointing out the obvious.”

 

He cups Steve’s cheek and ducks down to press their lips together sweetly, and even if it’s soft, Steve finds that he can’t quite breathe. Bucky pulls back and caresses his cheek again, looking down at him – Steve is sure that he can’t breathe right – with a spark of something _loving_ in his eyes.

 

It’s been so long since anybody looked at him and saw _him,_ and didn’t find him wanting. Breathtaking and terrifying as its implications are, Steve is instantly and wholeheartedly addicted to that spark more than any predatory gleam in Bucky’s wolf’s eyes.

 

“Turn around,” Bucky tells him. Steve rotates on the spot, Bucky’s hands slide down his body as he kneels down, and Steve shuts his eyes as Bucky palms and spreads his ass. “How’s it feel up there, babydoll? You need another rinse?”

 

“No,” Steve says. Bucky squeezes his ass before standing up and sliding his hands around to hug Steve from the back, pulling him against his chest.

 

“You remember I said I was gonna give you a treat if you were patient?” Bucky whispers in his ear. Steve nods quickly. “I hope you’re ready, sweet thing. I don’t do this a whole lot.”

 

Steve lets Bucky turn him around, but he’s confused when Bucky puts a hand on his arm, stopping him from kneeling even before he can process what he’d just said. Bucky bends to kiss his cheek, then he kneels instead and Steve’s eyes widen, understanding.

 

“When’s the last time somebody gave this sweet lil’ cock a good sucking?” Bucky asks him as one hand takes his hip and the other closes around him, stroking gently.

 

Steve just shrugs absently; not many people pay to give blowjobs rather than receive them.

 

Bucky huffs, smiling dryly, and drops a kiss onto his navel ring. “Well, I promise to fix that, sweet thing.”

 

Steve’s breath jerks out of his lungs in a gasp as Bucky ducks his head. Steve shuts his eyes and drops his head back, only to pull it back as the water gets in his mouth and nose and he grabs a hold of Bucky’s hair, just to steady himself. Bucky just hums into his work; his mouth feels like a pinprick, impossibly tight and warm. His left hand sweeps inside Steve’s thighs and the right presses between his cheeks and Steve lets out a long moan, gripping tighter to Bucky’s hair to stay upright.

 

Then Bucky pops off – and it is a pop, an obscene and wet _pop!_ that Steve thought only happened in porn – and smiles up at him with red lips.

 

“Anytime you got an itch, babydoll,” Bucky tells him, then bends to press a wet kiss to him and Steve digs his toes into the shower floor, “you just sit yourself in my lap, and you say _Sir_ –” Bucky nuzzles his face into his groin and kisses back up and Steve’s short of breath “– _sir, would you please kiss my pretty cock?_ ”

 

Steve whimpers as Bucky kisses him again as though to prove his point.

 

“And it is such a pretty cock, Stevie,” Bucky tells him calmly, then ducks his head again and Steve gasps as Bucky’s mouth swallows him down completely; it’s not like he has an impressive length, but the mouth is only so deep and without experience, taking a cock into the throat like this is a difficult task. Yet Bucky does it effortlessly, despite having said that he didn’t go to his knees for many people. Steve is horribly aware of how long it takes to train away a gag reflex.

 

Bucky pops back off, then raises an eyebrow up at him and abruptly a finger pushes into him while at the same time lifting his left hand to stroke him and Steve curls in on himself, gasping. He’s almost reminded of childhood asthma attacks, but no asthma attack ever left him feeling so wonderful.

 

“What do you say, dolly?” Bucky asks him. “What’d’you say if you want your sir to suck your cock?”

 

“Please,” Steve gasps out.

 

“Close, but not quite,” Bucky says. A second finger joins the first and Steve is shaking where he stands, pushing back on the fingers and forward into the fist. “What did I tell you to say?”

 

“Please kiss my cock, sir,” Steve says, “please, sir, please –”

 

“One more word there, babydoll, one more word,” Bucky prompts him, as his hands work magic and Steve is left whining for his mouth. “C’mon, sweet thing, you can say it.”

 

“Please kiss my pretty cock,” Steve mumbles bashfully. Bucky grins at him.

 

“Of course I will, baby boy.”

 

Steve’s ears are burning and the water striking his shoulders and back feels like it’s hammering at his body. He’s nearly slumped over, leaning on Bucky’s shoulders with his hands fisted in that dummied-up bun. Bucky is making purely obscene sounds, slurping and humming and his fingers are faintly squelching, and Steve’s blood is roaring louder than the water pounding down on them.

 

Bucky pops off of him again and Steve fairly gasps at the abrupt loss of his mouth, but his left hand closes around Steve and begins to smoothly stroke, almost petting him.

 

“There’s a good boy,” Bucky says in a rough voice. Steve whimpers. “Did ya like your treat, sweet thing?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles; his voice is strung out and raspy, almost like he’d been the one sucking dick, not Bucky.

 

“Tell me how much you liked it, baby boy,” Bucky tells him, and his thumb swirls as he says it and Steve crumples forward just a little more, Bucky’s arm around his hips bracing him.

 

“I –” Steve starts, then stops, flushing again. “I really liked it, sir. Thank you.”

 

“Go on, baby, tell me exactly what you liked,” Bucky insists.

 

Then he pushes a third finger into Steve and he’s left gasping, rocking forward into his fist and back onto his fingers again.

 

“Ah, ah,” Bucky says, “just tell me what you liked, pretty doll.”

 

Steve whimpers again; he likes being called a pretty doll, that’s for sure. “I liked – I liked –”

 

“You can tell me, babydoll,” Bucky encourages lightly; he’s smiling, and Steve is blinking rapidly to keep his eyes open.

 

“I liked having your tongue on me,” Steve forces out. He’s embarrassed, and it’s shocking him just how bashful he’s gotten when all Bucky wants him to do is describe just what about having his dick sucked he enjoyed. “I liked having your fingers in me, sir.”

 

Now, Steve knows what Bucky’s doing, it’s something Steve does often with shy clients; get them talking about what they enjoyed and once they get relaxed, they can ask for what they really want, but Steve’s not shy. Not usually, anyway. He’s perfectly fine asking for what he wants.

 

“You like this?” Bucky questions, then crooks his fingers and Steve gasps out again, clenching his fists. His knees are shaking. “Do you like it when your sir makes you feel good, babydoll?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles with a high flush to his face.

 

“Now, you know what to ask if you want your sir to make you feel this way, don’t you?” Bucky asks. “You just walk up and tell me you need me to make you feel pretty, don’t you?”

 

Steve nods jerkily. Bucky smiles at him again.

 

“Go on and ask me, dolly,” Bucky says. “Practice once for me, then we’ll get out of the shower and I’ll fill up this lovely hole with somethin’ nice.”

 

“I need you to make me feel good, sir,” Steve says hesitantly.

 

“Now, that’s not what I told you to say,” Bucky says in a soft, but stern tone. “Try again, sweet boy.”

 

Steve licks his lips. Now he gets it.

 

“I need you to make me feel pretty,” Steve whispers. Bucky beams at him.

 

“Good boy,” he purrs. He presses a wet kiss to Steve and Steve rocks forward onto his toes, being caught by Bucky’s steadying hand at his hip. “Now you say that anytime you need to, dolly, I’ll always be right here to oblige.”

 

Steve’s ears are hot and he’s legitimately bashful, and it seems that Bucky has found the one part of him that hadn’t matured and grown bitter in his old age at a skyrocketing rate years ago. Steve’s knees are shaking, he’s trembling, but it’s hardly Bucky’s fingers massaging his prostate or curling around the head of his dick. It’s simply being told that he’s pretty, and Bucky wanting him to believe it.

 

He doesn’t know what’s different about being called _pretty_ rather than sexy, or hot, or just plain attractive. Maybe it’s that _pretty_ isn’t inherently sexual. Steve has, for so long, found his value as a sexual object, with a literal monetary value attached to how alluring he can look when he looks up through his lashes or the way lace lays on his skin. Bucky is not attaching any monetary value to him. Bucky trusts him, which means everything to him, and he thinks Steve is pretty both when he’s on his knees and when he’s smiling. Maybe that’s it.

 

Bucky releases him and sweeps a hand up his hip, cupping his waist. Steve leans on his shoulders as Bucky drops one last kiss on his navel, then pulls out his fingers and stands up. Steve nearly whines at the loss of sensation, but Bucky took him down slowly from the stimulation and it’s just being empty that leaves him shaking. Bucky’s hands sweep across his body, petting his flanks and murmuring quiet hushing noises into his hair.

 

“Lean on me, dragă,” Bucky tells him softly.

 

Steve drops his hands to Bucky’s chest, then circles his ribcage and puts his weight on him, shutting his eyes and blowing out his breath. His ankles and knees steady themselves as he leans on Bucky.

 

“Are you ready to get out, amantu meu?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve hums vaguely. It’s warm in the shower, but outside, he has the promise of Bucky’s hands on him again.

 

“I think we’ll sit in the living room for your massage,” Bucky says in his ear. “I’ll put on _Planet Earth_ or something like that, how’s that sound, amantu meu?”

 

“Remind me what that means,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky kisses his hair. “My lover.”

 

Steve hugs him tighter. He nods, and Bucky’s hands sweep around to his thighs. “Hold on,” he says, and Steve puts his arms around Bucky’s neck so Bucky can pick him up. Steve hangs off his torso, legs dangling on either side of his waist, and in his muddled mind, the places where their bodies touch are just warm.

 

Bucky turns off the shower and opens the door. Steve shivers at the rush of cold air and Bucky runs a hand down his spine, murmuring gently to him. Bucky puts him on his feet, but even though Steve gets his balance under him, keeps a firm grip on his upper arm as he goes in search of towels. Steve hugs himself, shivering, until Bucky drapes a towel around his shoulders and starts drying him off. He kneels, rubbing gently with the soft cotton, and Steve just stands there, remembering the first night he stayed with Bucky and he complained when Bucky tried to dry his hair for him.

 

Steve doesn’t complain now. Bucky told him not to fuss about him being sweet on him, and pretty dolls don’t disobey their sirs.

 

Bucky rises, taking the towel with him, and wraps it around Steve’s shoulders instead of his waist. Steve takes the tails and hugs it tightly around himself, feeling grateful as it’s warm. Bucky takes another towel and dries his hair, then presses a kiss to his cheek before stepping back to dry himself off.

 

Steve tips his head to the side as Bucky runs the towel over his body. He’s not as gentle with himself as he had been with him, he works quicker, too. He puts a foot on the lid of the toilet to towel off his shin and under his thigh, and Steve trails his gaze up the curves of his body. He wants to draw Bucky, in a thousand different poses and states of undress, just to capture the beauty of his lean muscles, the hard lines under his skin in contrast with the soft edges.

 

Bucky glances at him, and Steve’s not embarrassed to be caught looking.

 

“What’re you gawking at, honey?” Bucky laughs. He drops his foot off the toilet and moves in closer, infiltrating Steve’s personal space.

 

Steve closes the gap. He lifts a hand from under his towel and presses it to Bucky’s chest, smoothing his fingers over the scant layer of faintly damp hair. Wet, it lies flat. Dry, it lies flat, too. It’s just hair, but Steve finds it fascinating, the little details that contradict the marble carving he had assumed Bucky would be a month ago. The flaws of Greek art in Bucky’s body are beautiful to Steve.

 

“Would you pose for me?” Steve asks quietly.

 

“Anytime,” Bucky agrees easily. Steve grins, then lifts his chin and shifts his weight onto his toes to look up at him. Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s elbows and kisses him with sweet lips.

 

“Thank you,” Steve mumbles. Bucky presses another kiss to his lips and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist.

 

“Of course,” he says, and picks him up. Steve pushes an arm around his neck, but lets his legs hang as Bucky carries him out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He sets him down on the bed, then puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes. Steve lies back, dropping the arm not in the towel above his head, and Bucky bends to kiss his shoulder and neck before walking away.

 

“I’m going to wash your toy,” Bucky tells him. “You fine on your own for a minute?”

 

Steve bites his lip, and Bucky walks back over to the bed, holding the packaged anal plug in his hands.

 

“I’m just gonna use the bathroom sink,” Bucky says. “You can come if you need to.”

 

Steve shakes his head. He can lie on the bed by himself for a minute. Bucky puts a hand on the bed and leans down, his shadow covering Steve’s body wholly, and kisses his forehead. Steve shuts his eyes, breathing deeply for a second, then raises his chin to him. Bucky kisses his lips, then his jaw, then ducks to kiss his neck and Steve lets his head fall back, exposing his throat, so Bucky can part his lips and start sucking a mark into his skin.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky murmurs against his neck. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Steve nods, and Bucky pulls back. Steve shifts onto his side, tucking his hand under his ear, to watch Bucky walk back into the bathroom. Bucky’s got a great ass, he thinks absently. Magnificent, really. Tanned and smooth, with round, firm cheeks, square hips and a thick waist that tapers up to his broad shoulders. And his thighs, Steve thinks those might be his favorite part of Bucky, they’re a work of art of their own. He’s not even sure he can do them justice.

 

The water runs in the bathroom for a minute, Bucky gathers up the discarded clothes and tossing them into a laundry hamper before drying off the new silicon toy and walking back out. Steve corrects his earlier thought, his gaze shamelessly fixed on Bucky’s groin as he enters the room again. Even half-filled, Bucky’s cock is gorgeous, and it takes the top of Steve’s favorite parts of Bucky’s body. He shifts under the towel, squeezing his thighs together briefly.

 

Bucky comes to stand by the bed and smiles down at him. Steve rolls onto his back, then pulls his other arm out from the towel and lays back, unfolding his legs to let them hang off the edge of the bed with a clear gap between them. He doesn’t move the towel, yet.

 

“This is quite the nice toy you picked out, baby boy,” Bucky says casually. He moves around to stand in front of Steve, then puts a knee on the bed, between his spread thighs to lean over him. He puts one hand by Steve’s head, and in the other, he holds up the plug. Steve licks his lips, shifting his weight on the bed. “It’s got ten levels, did you see that?”

 

Steve shakes his head. He had just picked it for its size.

 

“This won’t be comfortable for you to walk around in, now,” Bucky tells him. “Not like that skinny one you were wearing Friday night. You’ll just have to use it for me, alright?”

 

Steve nods. He doesn’t know what else he’d use it for, anyway.

 

Bucky ducks his head and Steve tips his head to the side, letting him kiss his neck. Steve curls his hands into fists and pulls his heels up to plant into the mattress, while Bucky finds a spot just under his jaw and starts sucking.

 

He pulls off and kisses Steve’s ear. “You ready, baby boy?”

 

Steve nods again. Bucky bites his earlobe, then kisses down his neck to his clavicle. He pauses to nip gently at the skin, then sucks on the spot before moving down again; he takes the towel wrapped around his shoulders and gives it a tug, pulling it open to expose his chest. Bucky flicks his gaze up at him, then sucks one of his nipples into his mouth and Steve jolts off the bed with a gasp.

 

Bucky puts the plug down and lays a hand over his chest, holding him down. Steve squirms, and Bucky’s thigh bumps against his hips so he squirms again to fit his crotch against Bucky’s knee.

 

Bucky sucks on his nipple a second longer, while Steve grinds back on his thigh and lets out breathy moans. He feels so high-strung he might come from just this, from Bucky’s tongue laving at his nipple and his knee pressed firmly into the V of his legs, until Bucky lifts off and squeezes his chest briefly before sitting up.

 

“There’s time for that later, honey,” Bucky tells him with a smirk when Steve whines. He picks up the plug again and settles his weight on the bed, sitting between Steve’s spread thighs with one leg curled under him and the other draped over Steve’s knee.

 

Steve licks his lips again, looking at the open sprawl of his lap. Bucky puts a palm on his knee, then looks down with intense concentration in his eyes as he pushes his hand up Steve’s thigh, to where the towel lays over his body. Bucky pushes his hand under it, lifting the towel as it goes, and the towel falls to the bed as his hand stops at Steve’s hip. He reaches to the side and picks up the remote, then takes the plug and lays it against Steve’s inner thigh.

 

Bucky meets his gaze, then presses a button on the remote. Steve jerks as the plug bursts into life, laying against the quadriceps but vibrating so powerfully he feels it in his pelvis already. Steve’s breathing picks up and he shifts his hips almost unconsciously, trying to get closer.

 

“That’s level four,” Bucky says calmly. Steve swallows hard. “I think I’m gonna put you on level one for now, and we’ll see where it goes.”

 

Steve nods once. Bucky smiles at him fondly, then presses another button. The plug’s vibration changes; now it pulses, twice as strong.

 

“Level six,” Bucky tells him. “I’m wondering, once I start kickin’ up the power, how many levels you can last before you’ll come.”

 

“Only one way to find out,” Steve answers. Bucky chuckles softly, and the vibrations lessen. Steve shifts again, pressing the toes of his left foot into the blanket and his right heel into the edge of the mattress.

 

Bucky lets the plug drift up his leg. Steve watches him move it, panting lightly. The vibrations are soft now, stretching into his skin and reaching the first layers of muscle, leaving a tingling feeling as it passes up his body. At the line of his hip and his torso, Bucky curves it away, following the line around to his stomach before bringing it to touch his navel ring. Steve watches his stomach heave, rising and falling as his lungs expand and contract, and Bucky turns up the vibrations so that the ring in his navel sings for a moment. Then he pulls it away and lets it drift down.

 

“I’m certainly likin’ this toy, sweetness,” Bucky remarks while Steve arches off the bed with a gasp. “It looks real nice up against your pretty cock.”

 

Steve can only breathe out: “Sir, sir, please…”

 

The vibrating drops again and Bucky drags it down again. Steve falls back against the bed, panting, and Bucky trails it between his legs.

 

“Oh, look,” Bucky says, sounding pleased with himself, “you’re already nice ‘n’ wet for me, dolly.”

 

Steve just nods as Bucky puts down the remote and puts the heel of his palm inside Steve’s thighs. Bucky lets out a soft sound and even puts down the plug, laying it pointed toward Steve on the bed so he can almost feel it vibrating still, and cups both his thighs to spread him open. Steve presses his head back on the bed, trying to catch his breath. The air is cold, his hole hot.

 

“I wasn’t meaning to do this,” Bucky says, then bends down and licks a stripe up his ass and Steve jolts again. Bucky lets out a sigh and sweeps his tongue across his lips. “But, damn, dolly. Your little hole’s so gorgeous, and your slick smells so good.”

 

Steve’s too busy having his brain explode to answer. Bucky smiles at him and stoops down again. It doesn’t take long for Steve to start writhing, Bucky’s hands gripping his thighs to keep him spread open doing nothing to pin him down, while Bucky’s back to making those obscene sounds Steve was sure only happened in porn. Every time he swallows, he feels the collar’s weight on his throat and it feels like Bucky’s got a hand closed around it even with his fingers digging into Steve’s thighs. Bucky licks him clean, and his body just makes more slick for him to lick up.

 

“I’m letting myself get distracted,” Bucky says finally. Steve just groans, lifting his hips off the bed like it’ll get Bucky’s tongue back in him. Bucky flashes him a smile and wipes off his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, then says as he dries it with the towel, “I got plans, honey, just trust me.”

 

“I trust you,” Steve mumbles. Bucky drops a kiss onto his thigh, then sits back up and resettles his weight on the mattress. Steve’s gaze jerks back to his open thighs, and he whines softly without meaning to.

 

“Patience, dolly,” Bucky reminds him in a gentle voice. He picks up the plug again, then fiddles with the remote until the vibrations cease entirely. “You’ll get my cock soon enough.”

 

The promise is enough. Steve nods and Bucky lays a hand on his hip, hooking his thumb inside his thighs as  he lifts the plug and drags it up his ass. Steve is still spread open from Bucky licking him out, and the tip of the plug finds his hole easily. Steve pushes back on it, and Bucky pulls it away.

 

“Relax, sweet thing,” Bucky tells him, like he’s warning Steve before delivering something unpleasant. “I gotta take this slow.”

 

Steve nods for him and Bucky looks down at his work with a furrowed brow. Steve feels abruptly so much more exposed while Bucky frowns in his concentration, his breath hitches in his throat and he turns his head to the side away from Bucky. His fingers clench. His body tenses.

 

“Stevie?” Bucky calls softly. “Sweetheart, gimme a number.”

 

Steve lifts his head again. He swallows and shakes his head, then reaches out for him. Bucky takes his hand and laces their fingers together, then leans over him and kisses his neck.

 

“Gimme a number, honey,” Bucky murmurs. “I can’t keep going until you check in.”

 

“Three,” Steve mutters reluctantly.

 

Bucky kisses his neck again, then his ear and his cheek, and Steve turns his face towards his so Bucky can capture his mouth in a long kiss. Bucky runs a hand up his stomach, then over his chest and down his arm to take his hand and squeeze it.

 

“‘S the matter, honey?” Bucky coos softly. “Wha’s makin’ my dolly feel upset, huh?”

 

Steve sucks in a breath and throws an arm around Bucky’s neck, holding onto his hair with tight fingers. “I don’ know,” he says. “Hold me?”

 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bucky says sweetly. He shifts his weight and puts both knees on either side of Steve’s body, then scoops him up and falls onto his side, holding Steve between his arms and legs tightly. He smooths a hand over Steve’s back, the other pushes into his damp hair. “You’re alright, baby,” he promises, “I’ve got you. You’re mine, dragă, you’re all mine, my sweet boy. What’s the matter?”

 

Steve swallows and tries to get his head screwed on straight so he can use logic and reasoning properly. Bucky keeps petting him, waiting for an answer, and Steve tries to distance himself from the cold and the abrupt feeling of being exposed. He doesn’t mind being exposed normally, he likes Bucky splaying him out and using him, it’s a mark of how he belongs to Bucky.

 

“Hold me,” Steve mumbles again, because it’s all he can think of to say. Bucky holds him tighter.

 

“It’s alright, pretios,” Bucky murmurs.

 

Steve fists his hands behind Bucky’s neck. _Pretios._ That’s it.

 

“Tell me I’m precious,” Steve says hastily. “I’m yours, I‘m precious to you, Buck, please –”

 

“Shh, shh, sweetheart, of course you’re precious,” Bucky says softly and sweetly. “You’re my baby, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, honey, I treasure you, my sweet.”

 

Steve presses his face into Bucky’s chest, while Bucky’s hands clutch him against his body and he presses kisses into his hair.

 

“Don’t frown at me,” Steve says.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky answers softly. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t upset with you or nothing, honey, I didn’t mean to frown.”

 

Steve has newfound revelations and he feels like he ought to tell Bucky; he feels vulnerable and fragile, but he wants to feel precious and pretty, and Bucky frowning at him like he does when Steve is merely his slut didn’t help matters. On a good day, he is perfectly fine spreading his legs on command for Bucky to look at him appraisingly and stick his cock wherever he wants to, but today is not a good day. Steve wants to – no, he needs to know that his value doesn’t lie in being a hole for Bucky to fuck when he feels bored.

 

“Just be sweet,” Steve mumbles. “I don’ – I don’t wanna be a slut today, Buck, please just be sweet on me –”

 

“Of course, honey, of course,” Bucky says. “I’ll always be sweet on my dolly, yeah?”

 

Steve nods once. He’s already relaxed. His value isn’t the eight hundred dollars he gets in half an hour of fucking. Bucky kisses his hair and smooths a hand over his spine.

 

“Thank you for telling me right away, pretty,” Bucky says. “You’re doing just what I asked you, you’re doin’ so good, baby. You wanna keep on or you wanna stop, sweetheart? What’d’you want?”

 

“I wan’ you to tie me up,” Steve mumbles.

 

“You wanna have that massage?” Bucky asks. “Or you just want me to fuck you nice ‘n’ slow now?”

 

“Massage,” Steve says. Bucky kisses his forehead.

 

“Okay, baby,” he murmurs. “Can you lie on your side for me, put your back against my chest?”

 

Steve shifts, rolling onto his other side. Bucky runs a hand down Steve’s side to his leg, then takes his knee and hooks it between his own knees; he holds him so that Steve is braced on his side against Bucky’s chest, his legs spread open and Bucky’s arms locking him in place.

 

“Let’s just take a breath,” Bucky says gently. “I’ll just hold you a minute, sweetheart.”

 

“Okay,” Steve answers in a breath.

 

Bucky kisses his hair. “Just a minute,” he repeats gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _leave a comment if you enjoyed this and check out chaos's art from[chapter one](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179382932886/barnes-leaves-his-hand-where-its-barely-touching) and [chapter eight](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179487629801/steve-realizes-that-hes-shivering-bucky-finally). i'll see you in the next chapter, **it’s the very thought of you, my –**._
> 
>  
> 
>  **dragă** = _darling_  
>  **amantu meu** = _my lover_
> 
>  
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	16. it’s the very thought of you, my –

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I see your face in every flower_   
>  _Your eyes in stars above_   
>  _It's just the thought of you_   
>  __  
>  [The very thought of you, my love](https://genius.com/Al-bowlly-the-very-thought-of-you-lyrics)   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _immediately after you're done reading this, you can check out the update to Like Rahab i'm posting. i have spent most of today watching brooklyn 99 and earlier i somehow read one of buck's lines in terry crews's voice. with that being said, let's get into the theories. sorry i can't not hear with that being said thinking of buzzfeed unsolved. with that being said, let's get into the chapter._

##  _it’s the very thought of you, my –_

 

A minute passes. Steve catches his breath and soaks up the oxytocin and dopamine that being wrapped in Bucky’s arms produces.

 

The moment is quiet and kind and sweet, there’s something almost loving in the way Bucky rests his nose in Steve’s hair and there’s something almost loving in the way Steve holds Bucky’s hands against his chest. The air between them is warm and soft. Steve thinks, somewhere in the deep, timid parts of his mind, that if this is what falling in love would feel like, maybe it wouldn’t be so scary.

 

“How’s this?” Bucky says softly in his ear. His hand sweeps back up Steve’s leg, curling inside his thigh. He pulls Steve’s leg from between his and drapes it over his hip, so that Steve's legs are spread open again.

 

Steve nods, then squirms a little until his ass is pressed against Bucky’s groin. Bucky chuckles lightly, Steve shivers at the sound, and Bucky reaches between Steve’s legs to adjust himself, until Steve can feel the hot weight of him between his thighs.

 

“Is that better?” Bucky coos. Steve nods again quickly. “Does my baby like feeling how hot he’s makin’ his sir feel?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles.

 

“You wan’ me to loosen up that lovely hole with my fingers?” Bucky says in his ear. “Or you want me to just work that fat plug into your pretty ass and turn it on?”

 

A shudder runs through his body and Steve sucks in a breath hard so he can answer. “‘M loose enough. Put it in me, sir.”

 

“Aw, honey, where’s your manners?” Bucky says, even as he picks up the plug and trails it up his inner thigh. “Pretty dolls say _please,_ sweet thing. You’re a pretty doll for me, ain’t you?”

 

“Please,” Steve says hastily; he is a pretty doll for Bucky.

 

“Very good, baby boy,” Bucky praises sweetly. He touches the tip of the plug to the crack of his ass, shifts it up and swirls it a little over his hole. Steve presses the back of his head into Bucky’s shoulder. “Y’know,” Bucky remarks, “I think this’ll be easier if you’re on your back, sweet thing.”

 

Then Bucky drops to the side, flipping Steve fully onto his chest and holding him securely there. Steve’s legs fall apart on the bed and heat flashes through his body from the points that Bucky’s touching him.

 

“How about that?” Bucky whispers. “Better?”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve murmurs. Bucky kisses his neck.

 

“Good boy,” he offers gently. “Now, let’s see about filling this little hole, hmm?”

 

Bucky gives the plug another twist, and Steve drops the back of his head over Bucky’s shoulder, leaving his throat bared and Bucky kisses it like it’s a reflex. He presses the tip of the plug in, then pulls it almost away and shifts it so its broad side lies flush with the line of his ass.

 

Slowly, he twists it again. Getting it covered in slick. Steve is vibrating even with the plug turned off.

 

“You’re dripping,” Bucky says in his ear. “You’re gettin’ my cock wet, babydoll.”

 

“Good,” Steve exhales.

 

Bucky presses his lips firmly to a spot under his ear, then shifts to cradle Steve’s head with an arm and starts sucking on the spot he’d kissed. With his other hand, he twists the plug around to press the tip into his hole again. He pushes it in and pulls it back, slowly working it in, and his mouth on Steve’s neck continues to suck marks into his skin. Steve clenches and unclenches his fists, plants his heels into the bed and curls his toes, swallows just to feel the collar around his throat. Bucky moves his mouth down in a line, systematically making the skin of his neck just one large bruise as he slowly teases the plug into him; he even parts his lips over the collar and runs his tongue on either side of it.

 

“Look at you,” Bucky murmurs. “You look good blushin’, pretty baby.”

`

Steve feels his whole body shiver.

 

“You look good with my collar on you, pretty boy,” Bucky goes on in a quiet voice. Steve pushes his heels into the bed, breathing harder, and Bucky gives a soft laugh. “You look so damn good writhin’ for me, my pretty doll.”

 

“Sir,” Steve mumbles, with nothing else to say.

 

“Pretty,” Bucky answers. He bites his earlobe and sucks on it, then puts his mouth right over his ear and purrs: “Such a pretty doll for me, aren’t you?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve exhales.

 

“Tell me,” Bucky purrs, “do you feel pretty, sweetheart? Do you feel pretty with my hard cock between your legs?”

 

Steve nods quickly.

 

“Why don’t you say it?” Bucky coos. “I think you’re nice ‘n’ relaxed, babydoll. I think I can get you to come again later. Why don’t you tell me how my cock against your thigh’s makin’ you feel?”

 

Heat flashes through his body and Steve tenses to roll his hips into the plug. He digs in his heels, grabbing fistfuls of the blanket and letting his nails bite into it.

 

“It makes me feel hot,” Steve mutters.

 

“Go on,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“It makes me feel –” Steve starts, then breaks off to moan, gasping in a long breath as Bucky pushes the plug nearly all the way in. “I feel – I feel –”

 

“You feel good, pretty doll?” Bucky asks him happily. “You feel like your sir wants you?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve whines out, “sir, are you gonna make me come? Sir, please?”

 

“When you ask so nicely, dolly,” Bucky chuckles. “Why don’t you tell me how you feel with my cock between your legs, and we’ll see if you’re ready to come?”

 

Even as he says it, Steve is rolling his hips against the plug and pressing his thighs into Bucky’s. “Can I –” Steve starts, breaks off to find better English. “Will you let me make you feel good, too? Will you rub off between my legs, sir?”

 

“You want me to do that, dolly?” Bucky asks in a purr. “You wanna feel my cock between your legs, baby boy?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “Can I, sir?”

 

“When you ask so nicely,” Bucky laughs again. “You ready for this whole thing, sweet boy?”

 

He pushes the plug a little further in. Steve gasps and nods frantically, digging his toes into the mattress.

 

“You want me to turn it on?” Bucky coos.

 

“Please,” Steve begs. “Please, sir?”

 

“Anything for my babydoll,” Bucky murmurs.

 

The plug pushes in the last inch and hits a deep spot on its way. Steve arches his back, pressing his hips down into Bucky’s and baring his neck as far as he can, and Bucky releases him with one arm to fumble around for the remote.

 

“‘S not comin’ out until after your massage,” Bucky warns him.

 

“‘S fine, sir,” Steve gets out between panting breaths. “Can I – Can –”

 

“Fuck,” Bucky exhales. He seems to find the remote, as the plug hums to life and Steve cries out as his legs snap together.

 

Bucky grabs his hips with one hand and starts rocking into his closed thighs, with the other he grasps him firmly and Steve moans whorishly at the feeling of the thick length between his thighs. The plug fills him completely and vibrates enough that he feels it in his balls. His body is one taut E-string, shaking out a reedy note and ready to burst.

 

“You close, pretty?” Bucky growls in his ear as his hand works Steve toward oblivion. “You moan so pretty, you writhe so sweet for me, gorgeous boy. You gonna come with my big dick trapped between your legs, sweet thing?”

 

“Yes,” Steve gasps, “sir, oh, sir, yes –”

 

“I’m gonna come all over you,” Bucky pants, “get your sweet cock and your lovely nipples all dirty, pretty baby.”

 

“Please, sir,” Steve cries.

 

“My pretty boy,” Bucky grunts out. “You got me ruttin’ like you in heat, dragă, got me ready to knot your damn legs, dragoste, baby –”

 

Steve is left letting loud, long _uh!_ sounds punch out of his chest while Bucky’s fingers dig into his hips. His thighs tremble from clenching them together and his core is shaking; he feels the plug’s buzzing in his ears and the tips of his fingers.

 

“You come whenever you want, sweet thing,” Bucky says, finally gasping. “You come when you’re ready, dragoste, throw your head back and fuckin’ _scream_ for me, baby boy.”

 

“Ah!” is all Steve can say. “Ah, sir, sir – oh –”

 

“Baby,” Bucky is saying in a shaking voice, “sweet dolly, pretty baby, you gonna come? You gonna come for me, babydoll?”

 

“Yessir, yes,” Steve pants, “‘m gonna – ‘m gonna come, sir –”

 

“Then come,” Bucky growls.

 

Steve throws his head back and screams as he climaxes. Bucky’s fingers dig in harder to his hips and his rocking doubles, then he’s grunting and stilling beneath him and Steve collapses on top of him, exhausted.

 

The plug is still vibrating, shaking tremors out of him. Steve is shaking, then Bucky finds the remote and turns it down slowly, until it’s completely off.

 

“Bucky,” Steve whispers breathlessly.

 

Bucky noses at his neck, then hugs him around the waist and shifts into a sitting position. Steve lies boneless in his grip, and Bucky gently scents his neck.

 

“My pretty boy,” he murmurs. “How do you feel, dolly?”

 

Steve just nods, a grin slowly spreading across his face. Bucky kisses his neck sweetly.

 

“That’s my doll,” he says in a pleased tone. “That’s my pretty baby. You did so good, babydoll, you’re amazing.”

 

“Y’re amazin’,” Steve mumbles absently.

 

“You’re breathtaking,” Bucky answers, nuzzling his neck.

 

“Michelangelo,” Steve says vaguely. “But better.”

 

Bucky chuckles and sweeps him closer in his arms. Steve lets his head rest on Bucky’s shoulder with a smile and shuts his eyes.

 

“You wanna have a nap before supper?” Bucky asks him.

 

“Was promised a massage,” Steve says, then holds up his hands, wrists touching. “And silk rope.”

 

“Well, as long as you still want it,” Bucky murmurs. Steve nods and Bucky kisses his shoulder. “How tired are you, scale of one to five?”

 

“Which’s tired?” Steve mutters.

 

“Five’s exhausted.”

 

Steve hums as he thinks, letting a hand slip to Bucky’s chest and brushing a thumb over a nipple. “Three,” he says after a minute.

 

“How anxious do you feel?” Bucky then asks.

 

“One,” Steve scoffs. “I feel fine.”

 

“What about touch? Hmm?”

 

Steve presses closer to him. “Still want you,” he says quietly.

 

“I didn’t say I’d let go at any point,” Bucky promises.

 

He sweeps his wrist up Steve’s spine and the gesture deflates tension in his whole body. Steve likes it when Bucky scents him. It’s a taboo gesture these days, people think it’s a symbol of possession, reducing Omegas to mere property of their Alphas. Which is why Steve likes it. He belongs to Bucky, heart and soul and body.

 

“Four,” Steve says finally.

 

“And you still want me to tie you up?”

 

Steve nods.

 

“I can’t let you go back into subspace so quick after dropping, honey,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“I know,” Steve answers. “But ‘s nice. Not having to think.”

 

Bucky kisses his shoulder and pulls a wrist up his thigh to his hip. “Alright,” he says. “Then let’s go downstairs, huh?”

 

Steve nods and Bucky repositions him in his lap until he’s lying astride him, then lifts him up and lays him back down, over the towel and Steve stretches out. Bucky takes his hands, kisses both of his palms, then walks over to the dresser and takes a bundle of rope. Steve turns his head to watch him, then back as Bucky returns.

 

“I know you’re gonna look damn good with this on you,” Bucky says with a smirk. “We’ll get plenty of use outta these ropes, honey.”

 

Steve lifts his arms and holds them out to Bucky in offering. Bucky takes both hands in one, then crawls onto the mattress and drops down to his left.

 

“You don’t have much experience with shibari, do you?” Bucky asks. “Y’know, Japanese bondage.”

 

Steve’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. Bucky squeezes his hand.

 

“Gimme a number, sweetheart,” he asks. “You want something simpler?”

 

“Five’s still bad?” Steve mutters. Bucky nods.

 

“Be honest,” he says, “I won’t be mad.”

 

“Two,” Steve says. Bucky lifts his hand and kisses his palm.

 

“I’m gonna start you small,” he says into his palm. “Just a lil’ cuff, alright?”

 

Steve nods. He’s seen shibari on Tumblr, it always looks so amazing, even though incredibly complex. Bucky starts unraveling the rope and Steve watches in fascination.

 

“I didn’t know you’d be able to do shibari,” he says.

 

“I prefer ropes to cuffs and chains,” Bucky answers. “Shibari was the natural progression.”

 

“Can you do those suspension harnesses?” Steve asks.

 

“Not today,” Bucky laughs.

 

“Well, no,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky looks down at him with a smile, then leans in and drops a kiss onto his forehead. “We can work our way up to those if you want,” he says.

 

Steve nods quickly. Bucky smiles wider and kisses his cheek, then sits up again and shakes out the rope. He takes the two ends together and folds them, then starts wrapping it around his elbow and hand to gather it.

 

“This is one of my favorite cuffs,” Bucky says.

 

He takes the ending loop and measures out a foot or so, then takes Steve’s hands and pulls them out so he’s holding them over his stomach in the air. He wraps the loop around Steve’s wrists, twines the two ends together and wraps the loop back around his wrists. Steve watches Bucky pass the gathered rope through the loop, then he neatly cinches it down into a knot.

 

“It gives you a nice, sturdy bind,” Bucky tells him, “and there’s room to do more with the end.”

 

Bucky takes the gathered rope around Steve’s hands, then tucks it under itself and pulls it tight back. He pauses to stick a finger under the rope and check its tightness, then does the same thing in the other direction. Every few knots, he pushes a finger, then two, under the ropes and sweeps them around his wrists. Steve watches with wide eyes as Bucky artfully crafts a binding cuff, the deep blue making his skin look a creamier peach and the knots looking like they had been woven by a loom, not mere hands. The way Steve holds his arms keeps the rope taut and in turn, the ropes keep his hands in place, even as Bucky continues the cuff and Steve’s arms are no longer touching.

 

At halfway down his forearm, Bucky stops looping the rope and instead pulls the tail around the final knot to secure it. He takes the remaining two feet or so and ties intermittent knots down its length, keeping it together.

 

“Now how’s that?” Bucky asks him with a proud gleam to his eye.

 

“I see why people love it so much,” Steve murmurs. “It’s beautiful.”

 

Bucky leans over him and presses a kiss to his chest, then his shoulder and then his neck. “You’re what makes it beautiful,” he says.

 

“That’s the cheesiest shit I ever heard,” Steve announces.

 

“What’d I say about complainin’?” Bucky scolds him.

 

“I wasn’t complaining!” Steve insists quickly. “I was pointing out the obvious!”

 

Bucky gives him a look and Steve starts laughing. Then Bucky ducks his head and blows a raspberry on Steve’s chest and his laughter doubles. He kicks his feet and tries to squirm away, but Bucky grabs the end of the rope and yanks him back, just to blow another raspberry on his stomach.

 

“That’s what you get for bein’ a smart-ass!” Bucky says firmly, then starts tickling.

 

“I’m sorry!” Steve shrieks. “Aw, c’mon, I was kidding!”

 

Bucky pulls on the rope until Steve’s hands are over his head, then starts tickling his underarms. Steve laughs and writhes, twisting away only to be brought firmly back into place. Bucky’s beaming as he tortures Steve, and Steve’s eyes are watering he’s laughing so hard.

 

“Uncle!” Steve wheezes. “Jersey, Brooklyn, something!”

 

Bucky lets up on _Jersey_ and Steve takes the reprieve to catch his breath. Bucky smirks at him.

 

“You make the damn ropes damn beautiful,” he says firmly.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve breathes out.

 

Bucky bends and kisses just under his collar. Steve swallows hard so he’ll feel it, and Bucky stops to suck a hickey into his skin. Steve shivers.

 

“Next time,” Bucky murmurs, “I’ll tie your wrists to your ankles. Face down, put your hands between your legs so your ass is in the air.”

 

“Promises, promises,” Steve answers faintly. He feels Bucky smile and tries to reach out to him, to touch him, and forgets that his hands are bound. Bucky tightens his grip on the rope, then sits up and swings Steve’s arms back to lie on his stomach.

 

“Hold still,” Bucky tells him. He takes the tail of the rope and settles onto his elbow next to Steve’s head.

 

He loops the end of the rope through the ring on Steve’s collar. Steve swallows again while Bucky wraps the rope around itself.

 

“Just for a minute,” Bucky says. He shortens the slack until Steve’s knuckles are level with his chin. “So your hands aren’t in my way.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Steve asks, breathing hard in excitement. He lets his elbows hang by his ribcage, the rope pulled taut by its securing to his collar.

 

Bucky kisses his cheek. “Patience, dolly,” he tells him. Then he sits up and swings a leg over Steve’s hips. He doesn’t straddle him, but spreads his hands over his waist and bends over. He kisses Steve’s stomach, then gets up completely and walks over to a closet.

 

Steve watches as best he can, but remains lying on his back on the bed. Bucky opens the closet and steps into it, rummaging for a minute. Steve looks over at the wardrobe in the corner, then back at the closet. Bucky doesn’t keep suits in there, he can guess that much.

 

Bucky returns a minute later, holding a stack of items that are blurry in the edges of his vision. He crosses to the bed and drops the stack behind Steve and pauses to drop a kiss onto his forehead before walking away again. Steve cranes to look over his shoulder as Bucky disappears into the bathroom, then he hears the water running and assumes he’s getting a wet washcloth to wipe the come off his thighs and stomach.

 

Sure enough, Bucky returns a minute later with a faintly steaming cloth in hand. He puts a knee on the bed to lean over Steve.

 

“What kinda scented candles do you like, dolly?” he asks as he takes the cloth to Steve’s stomach.

 

“Trees,” Steve answers. “Forest-y things.”

 

Bucky nods as though this information is vital and wipes carefully around Steve’s groin. Then he lifts one of Steve’s knees and wipes inside his thighs, taking the cloth between the cheeks of his ass gently. His hand bumps the plug and Steve rocks back into it lightly.

 

“Shh,” Bucky tells him, “you gotta wait, sweetheart.”

 

Steve nods, knowing his own refractory period. “Just feels nice,” he says.

 

Bucky offers him a smile and drags the washcloth back over his stomach. He bends again to kiss his shoulder, then walks away again. Steve lets his body go slack, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

 

The mattress dips and Steve opens his eyes again, blinking a few times. Bucky brushes at his hair with a hand, then begins unraveling the rope from the taut line between his cuff and collar. Steve lets his arms fall against his stomach as Bucky releases the tail of the rope, then sits up when Bucky pull on it.

 

“I’m gonna take some stuff downstairs,” Bucky tells him, then kisses his bound hands. “You mind waiting up here for a little bit?”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Steve says. Bucky meets his gaze and raises his eyebrows. “Really,” Steve insists. “Just for a minute?”

 

“Just for a minute,” Bucky affirms. He kisses his hands again, then gives the rope slack and pushes on Steve’s shoulder until he lies down again. “You can time me.”

 

Steve gives a nod. Bucky brushes at his hair, then picks up the blanket and drapes it over his body from the shoulders down. Steve relaxes into the mattress; the blanket is soft and smells like Bucky.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Bucky assures him.

 

Steve nods, letting his eyes shut again. Bucky’s weight lifts from the mattress, and Steve begins to count under his breath. _One, two, three…_ He hears Bucky’s footsteps, leaving the room and thudding down the stairs. _Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight…_ Thudding footsteps back on the stairs, walking fast back into the bedroom. The mattress dips at forty-four and Steve opens his eyes to Bucky’s face.

 

“Hi,” Steve says quietly.

 

Bucky’s face splits into a grin. “Hi, baby,” he says. He leans down and Steve turns his cheek out so Bucky will kiss it, and smiles as Bucky pets through his hair.

 

“You ready to go downstairs?”

 

“Mhmm,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky’s weight on the mattress changes, then his arms push under Steve’s body and lift him up, the blanket as well. Steve curls into Bucky’s neck as he is shifted in his grip, Bucky lightly tossing him to get a better hold on him, then exhales, closing his eyes. The blanket flutters in the breeze of Bucky’s movement, but Steve is still warm under it.

 

“Here you are,” Bucky murmurs at the same time as he lowers Steve. Steve lifts his head and opens his eyes, then settles himself on his knees on the floor pillow and puts his back against the sofa. “Little nest for my dolly, hmm?”

 

Steve smiles, thinking of nesting and how easy it would be to do with all the pillows and blankets Bucky has scattering the apartment.

 

Bucky pulls the blanket around his lower half and Steve leans his head on his shoulder while Bucky is kneeling next to him. He might demand cuddles later. Well, might is a mild word. More like definitely will. Bucky kisses his hair and stands up, and Steve just flops against his knee, nuzzling his face into his thigh.

 

Bucky takes the tail of the rope and pulls lightly on it. “Sit up, dolly.”

 

Steve straightens his spine, letting Bucky pull him up by the ropes around his wrists.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky tells him.

 

He pulls the blanket around Steve’s waist more securely, then pushes it off his shoulders and pulls his hands from under it. Steve leaves his gaze down, until Bucky taps the underside of his chin and he lifts his head on the cue.

 

“Good baby,” Bucky says with a smile, then kisses his cheek sweetly and Steve smiles.

 

Bucky lowers himself to a knee and nuzzles the side of his face, then Steve lifts his chin further and Bucky scent-marks his neck. Steve tips his head farther back and Bucky kisses his neck, then raises his empty hand to rub his wrist along the collar around his throat.

 

“Such a pretty boy,” he murmurs and Steve clenches his fingers.

 

He rocks his ass downward, against nothing but the air, yet the plug in his ass shifts and he lets out a fluttering sigh. Bucky’s grip tightens on the rope.

 

“Did I tell you you could do that?” he asks quietly.

 

Steve reluctantly stills. “No, sir.”

 

Bucky kisses under his jaw. “Then don’t do it,” he says simply. Steve first sucks in a breath, then lets it out hard and nods. Bucky kisses another spot, before pulling away and sitting back on his heel.

 

Bucky cups his jaw with one hand and holds the end of the rope like a leash in the other. Steve flicks his gaze up, then looks at the ground, his ears hot, at Bucky’s lidded eyes and soft smile.

 

“Look at me, honey,” Bucky murmurs. Steve flicks his gaze back up. “You know, you got such bright eyes, Steve. I wasn’t kidding about that starlight thing, your eyes are beautiful.”

 

Steve drops his gaze, but jerks it back up before Bucky can even grip his chin tighter. Bucky then reaches up and brushes his fingers through Steve’s hair, before tapping his fingers under his chin and standing up. Steve follows his gaze with his own.

 

“You relax there, sweet thing,” Bucky tells him. “Go on, sit comfortably.”

 

Steve flicks his gaze down, then looks back up at Bucky. “This is comfortable.”

 

“You can’t kneel for as long as you’re gonna be there,” Bucky says with a cluck of his tongue. “Why don’t you sit on your cute little bottom, honey? That won’t put so much strain on your knees.”

 

Steve compulsively licks his lips and Bucky smiles at him.

 

“Go on,” he says.

 

Steve shifts off his knees. The plug shifts too and his ears heat up while he bites his lip and Steve gingerly puts his weight on his ass. The plug shifts again, pleasure flaring up his spine, and Bucky’s smile is predatory again.

 

A different kind of predatory. Not quite a wolf licking his fangs. Steve’s neck heats up as Bucky reaches down to run a hand through his hair, looking down on him with pure, unadulterated and human want in his eyes.

 

“Good baby,” Bucky praises him softly, and Steve shivers. “I know I keep sayin’ it, but you’re such a pretty boy, Steve.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve murmurs. Bucky cups his chin, thumbing at his jaw. Steve thinks his refractory period might be shortening; he feels a buzzing in his blood, as Bucky looks down on him with the pure want of a virile Alpha before a young and pretty Omega.

 

Maybe that’s why Steve likes being called pretty. With the gray at his temples and the lines around his eyes, Bucky’s predatory gaze reminds him that he really _is_ young. He’s only 23, by all rights he’s hardly an adult, a genuine boy under Bucky’s gaze. The thought makes Steve shiver.

 

Bucky walks around Steve, still holding onto the end of the rope, to sit behind him on the sofa. Steve sits upright on the cushion, though every movement makes the plug shift in his ass and it’s taking every ounce of his concentration not to grind back against it, and Bucky pulls the rope around Steve’s shoulder until his hands are clasped just beneath his chin. Bucky bends over him from behind, pulls the rope through the link on his collar and loops it loosely, enough that it pulls free right away when Bucky demonstrates, but keeps Steve’s hands in position under his chin with little effort on his part.

 

Bucky kisses the back of his neck, then, still leaning over him, lifts the TV remote and switches on the flatscreen.

 

“Now,” he says in Steve’s ear, and clearly Steve has a thing for Bucky’s voice in his ear because even that makes him shiver, “what’d I say we’d watch, sweet thing?”

 

“Planet Earth?” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky kisses under his ear. “That's right,” he says.

 

Bucky almost absently brings up the program, only glancing at the screen once or twice as necessary. His attention is fixed on Steve, as he carries on with his promise of making his neck a mosaic. Steve tilts his head away wherever Bucky puts his mouth, wanting to encourage his every kiss. His neck is very sensitive, especially the closer Bucky gets to the cervical scent gland. Steve's heartbeat kicks like a bass beat in his ear.

 

The TV comes to life, but Steve isn't paying attention. He misses Bucky putting down the TV remote and picking up a different one.

 

Steve gasps when the plug turns on, faint vibrations that do hardly anything but startle arousal from him anyway. Bucky chuckles in his ear and Steve sits up as straight as he can to avoid fucking himself with the plug without permission.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky murmurs to him. His warm palm presses to the back of Steve neck and sweeps to the side. “Just sit there and relax, yeah?”

 

Steve nods once. Bucky presses a kiss to his ear. His hands, warm and rough and large, settle on his shoulders and sweep up the back of his neck once, then lift away.

 

“I’m gonna use lotion,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve just nods.

 

A wide, left-panning shot of a rainforest takes up the TV screen. The narrator’s voice is the kind of droning and deep that makes listeners at ease and sleepy. Behind him, Steve hears the cap of a bottle opening, and immediately can smell something sharp and crisp that makes him think of peppermint or eucalyptus. Steve takes a deep breath, and the scent gets into his sinuses and relaxes them. He breathes deep again, letting it settle into his lungs.

 

When he was younger, he would get bronchitis like other kids scraped their knees, and it got so frequent that his mother, just to make it easier for his shitty lungs to inhale, put Vicks on his chest every night until he was old enough to do it himself. The lotion smells more like peppermint than Vick’s, but Steve is still reminded, and it’s one of few memories he has from his childhood or about his mother that isn’t painful. So he takes deep breaths and lets the scent ease the expanding and contracting of his lungs.

 

“What rules did I give you earlier, sweetheart?” Bucky asks; Steve can hear him putting the lotion on his hands, rubbing them together and warming it.

 

“Don’t complain,” Steve answers. “Don’t talk.”

 

“Unless?” Bucky prompts.

 

“I need to tell you something or you ask me a question,” Steve tells him simply.

 

Steve can feel Bucky leaning over him; he drops a kiss onto Steve’s hair and murmurs: “Good boy.” Then his hands, slick with lotion, press to his shoulder blades and sweep up to his neck.

 

Steve’s shoulders droop, the peppermint aspect of the lotion getting into his skin and working on his muscles the same way it relaxes his breathing. Bucky’s calluses grit into his skin, but in a way that feels nice. Steve leans his elbows onto his calves and lets his posture slump forward, holding up his chin with his clasped and bound hands, so Bucky can get to his whole back. Planet Earth fills the room with background noise, giving his brain something to focus on, and Bucky’s fingers begin to dig into his muscles.

 

Gentle at first, and Steve can hardly feel it, but Bucky slowly starts to press harder. He spread the lotion all over Steve’s back and shoulders, even on his neck over and under his collar and the tops of his arms, but after he’d done that, he focuses on Steve’s shoulders. He pinches with his fingers and his thumbs, rolls the heels of his palms, pebbles pressure with the tips of his fingers and digs in. Steve’s eyes slip shut. The plug vibrating in his ass is so low powered, after a while it just becomes a background hum along with Planet Earth’s quiet narration.

 

_“Though the waters of the Amazon River are murky, many creatures have evolved to call the river their home…”_

 

Bucky’s fingers move to his neck above the collar. Steve lets a sigh slip past his lips as Bucky puts pressure on his traps, an instinctual response. Bucky lifts his hands a moment, adding more lotion, and returns again to push two fingers up either side of his neck and drag them back down hard. Steve lets his head tip forward, until his chin rests on his chest and Bucky uses his thumbs to dig into his traps again.

 

_“The boto, or river dolphin, is one of the larger mammals inhabiting the Amazon river. Adult males can reach up to 185 kilograms and 2.5 meters in length…”_

 

Bucky drops another kiss onto the top of his hair. Steve sighs again softly, and Bucky nuzzles lightly into his hair, before placing a kiss on his ear and leaning back again. His fingers shift below the collar, then push under it and roll into his muscles. He works on the lower part of Steve’s neck for a few minutes, then pulls his fingers with increasing pressure down over his shoulders and he squeezes the sockets of his shoulders briefly before moving his hands back to Steve’s spine. Bucky lifts his hands again, and they come back with more lotion. Steve’s skin is beginning to tingle from the peppermint.

 

_“Another large inhabitant of the Amazon river and its tributaries are the freshwater stingray. Freshwater stingrays are found in tropical and subtropical rivers across the globe. Like their ocean cousins, freshwater stingrays have venomous barbs on their tails, however, these tails are significantly shorter…”_

 

“How you feelin’, gorgeous?” Bucky asks softly.

 

Steve almost doesn’t hear him. He sits up a little, then blinks his eyes open and nods once to indicate that he heard while he gathers his thoughts to answer.

 

“Don’t think too hard, honey,” Bucky murmurs. He kisses his ear again. “Jus’ answer me.”

 

“‘M good, then,” Steve says in a mumble.

 

Bucky leans a little closer and kisses once along his jaw, before pulling back and Steve slumps forward again. He lets his thoughts drift back away.

 

Bucky’s hands push down his spine. Steve puts his elbows between his knees and leans down, letting his head drop, until he’s slumped over his own lap. The stretch will get uncomfortable eventually, but for now, it gives better access to his lower back and stretches out his hips and knees a little. Bucky chuckles above him, then Steve hears the couch creak and Bucky’s weight comes down between him and the sofa. His groin presses into Steve’s ass and Steve sucks in a breath, but manages not to grind back on him. It’s difficult, Bucky’s body is hot and firm behind him, and even if Steve couldn’t feel it, he can smell the subtle changes to Bucky’s scent that mean he’s turned on.

 

Steve, though? He’s content to sit there and let Bucky treasure him.

 

Bucky kisses the top of his spine as his hands spread over Steve’s lower back. His fingers work at the muscles under his ribs for a minute, then find the unnatural curve of his spine near the base.

 

“Tell me about this,” Bucky says.

 

“‘S scoliosis,” Steve mumbles.

 

“I know that, brat,” Bucky laughs. “Tell me how it affects you. Does it hurt? Do you see a doctor for it?”

 

“Doesn’t hurt usually,” Steve answers. “It’s hardly a bend, anyway. Tried doing PT for it when I was in high school, but then we couldn’t afford it with my ma’s cancer.”

 

“When was the last time you had it checked?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve shrugs lightly. “Physical therapist said it probably wouldn’t make much difference on my life until I was older.”

 

“You are older, baby,” Bucky reminds him. “When’s the last time you had it checked?”

 

“Don’t remember,” Steve tells him. “I have a brace in a closet somewhere, drugstore one, that I use when it hurts. I put a heating pad on it sometimes, too.”

 

“You’ll need to find that brace,” Bucky says gently. “I’ll schedule a physical for you soon, find you a specialist.”

 

“Mmkay,” Steve answers. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome, dragă,” Bucky says, kissing his spine. Steve smiles to himself.

 

Bucky is gentle around his scoliosis, using greater pressure higher up his spine. “What’s your head feel like right now, honey?”

 

“Quiet,” Steve answers.

 

For a minute, Bucky’s silent. The only noise is the TV, and the program is following a riverbed with quiet music. Steve relaxes into the quiet.

 

“I keep askin’ you about your ills,” Bucky says abruptly. Steve tips his head to the side, putting his right ear toward Bucky with a slight frown. “Your past, all that. And you’ve been answering, even when you weren’t being upfront with me about your intentions, you didn’t lie about your past. I haven’t told you those things in return.”

 

“Y’told me about Aleksei,” Steve mumbles.

 

“But I lied about my family,” Bucky says. His hands smooth over Steve’s back, keeping him in place when he starts to lift his head. “I didn’t want to get into this while you were in a bad headspace, but you deserve to know as much about me as I know about you. It’s not fair that I ask things of you that I don’t return. So, anything you wanna ask me, I’ll answer.”

 

“Okay,” Steve says faintly, relaxing again.

 

“You don’t have to do it now, ‘course,” Bucky goes on. “I just want you to know you have that option.”

 

“Alright,” Steve answers softly.

 

Bucky starts working between his shoulder blades and Steve settles back into his chest, back into his warmth, back into the quiet. The TV is still playing river sounds, birds calling out, and still, it’s quiet.

 

“You deserve better than me, Steve.”

 

Bucky’s words are faint, distant, and maybe Bucky didn’t mean for him to hear it or to say it at all, but they shatter the quiet and Steve sits up. Immediately, Bucky’s hands fly around his waist and grip him tight, grabbing the rope looped through his collar and releasing it. Steve’s hands drop into his lap and Bucky hooks a finger into the cuff, saying, “You need this off?” before Steve can even open his mouth.

 

“Shut up,” Steve says.

 

Bucky’s grip on the ropes slackens. “What?”

 

“Shh,” Steve insists. “Kiss me.”

 

Bucky’s lips press to his cheek, and Steve turns his head so Bucky can kiss his mouth. When their lips part, Steve leans on his shoulder.

 

“So, you’re a dumbass,” Steve starts. Bucky laughs dryly. “I mean it. I deserve better than you? What kind of bullshit is in _your_ head, Barnes?”

 

Bucky nuzzles his face into Steve’s neck. Steve lets his head tip back.

 

“Tha’s a serious question,” Steve mutters. “Complete bullshit.”

 

“I shouldn’t have said it,” Bucky says into his neck.

 

“But you did,” Steve answers. “And now we’re talking about it. There’s this thing called communication, someone told me it’s what people do in real relationships?”

 

Bucky laughs once into his neck and Steve takes a second to adjust his position so there’s less pressure on his plugged up ass, though he’d nearly forgotten about it in the quiet. Bucky’s hands circle his waist and he shoves his legs on either side of Steve’s folded knees.

 

“Why do you think I deserve better?” Steve asks him.

 

“You deserve somebody good for you,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“You’re good for me,” Steve insists.

 

“You deserve somebody good for you who isn’t a fuck up,” Bucky corrects, and Steve turns his head to glare at him. “What?”

 

“Do you think _I’m_ a fuck up?” Steve demands. “I’m pretty sure I qualify, I was bullied my entire life, my ma died a bitter woman who regretted having me, I got molested in the foster system, I gave away my rights to become a child prostitute; does that make _me_ a fuck up?”

 

“No,” Bucky answers quickly, and Steve knocks their foreheads together lightly.

 

“Then don’t call yourself a fuck up.”

 

“Steve,” Bucky sighs.

 

“Bucky,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky reaches onto the couch and mutes the TV. Then he picks up the plug’s remote and switches it off. Steve hardly feels it. Bucky returns to hugging him and kisses his shoulder.

 

“If anything,” Steve starts, “I don’t deserve you.”

 

“Aw, honey,” Bucky exhales. “Honey, no –”

 

“Look, we can sit here all day and argue who deserves better more,” Steve says.

 

His nose is tingling and his eyes have started to burn, and when he sniffs, Bucky hugs him tighter. He doesn’t want to think about this, the quiet has made his emotions rise to the surface and he’s turned maudlin quickly.

 

“But – But maybe we can just deserve each other,” Steve starts. “And forget about who’s more fucked up. So let’s just – just forget about it all, just focus on right now, ‘cause we’re here now and we have each other and – and –”

 

“Steve, Stevie,” Bucky cuts him off when Steve trails off into repetitions of the word _and._ “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. We’re here, we got each other.”

 

“Right now,” Steve mutters. For now.

 

Bucky kisses his shoulder. “It’s not changing anytime soon,” he murmurs.

 

He’s been emotional all day, but even that doesn’t explain why Steve keeps sniffing, trying not to cry. Bucky kisses his neck, then hooks a finger into the ropes around his wrists.

 

“I’m gonna take these off, sweetheart,” he tells him. Steve can’t bring himself to argue as he begins to unravel the cuff. “It’s okay to cry, alright? I’ll get these off and we’ll put the toys away and just have dinner –”

 

“I wanna keep on the collar,” Steve says quickly. He wants to belong to Bucky as long as he can.

 

Bucky kisses it and Steve hiccups. “That’s alright,” Bucky says gently. “I’m sorry I ruined the mood.”

 

“No, ‘s not your fault,” Steve mumbles. Bucky pulls the last loop loose and slips the cuff off his wrists, tossing the ropes aside, and Steve reaches up to swipe at his eyes. “We – We tried – ‘S my fault. ‘M sorry.”

 

“No, no, I got you crying, it’s not your fault,” Bucky insists. “Lemme get your plug out, okay?”

 

Steve shakes his head. He shifts onto his hip and reaches back to take it out himself. It comes out wet and slightly sticky, and Bucky hands him a cloth for Steve to wrap it in so it doesn’t make a mess. It leaves him feeling cold and open; he shivers, and Bucky pulls the blanket pooled around his hips up over his shoulders.

 

“You can cry, sweetheart,” Bucky says to him. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry.”

 

Steve curls into Bucky’s chest and folded his arms between them, giving in to the urge to hide in Bucky’s embrace. He hates crying, it always makes him feel like a child, immature and hopeless and weak for not being able to keep a lid on his emotions.

 

“Shh, shh,” Bucky murmurs, “it’s alright, let it out. I’m here, I got you, sweetheart.”

 

“I know,” Steve mumbles. He reaches up and swipes angrily at his cheeks, then Bucky catches his hand, stopping him. Steve sniffs hard, and Bucky kisses his fingers once before letting go and brushing away Steve’s tears with a knuckle himself.

 

“It’s alright,” Bucky says gently.

 

“I don’t wanna lose you,” Steve admits quietly.

 

“Aw, honey,” Bucky sighs. He presses his palm to Steve’s cheek and kisses him tenderly, then caresses his cheek when he pulls back. “I’m so sorry I brought this up, baby, you’re not gonna lose me, I’m not gonna leave you, I promise.”

 

Steve sucks in a breath hard and squirms until his legs are folded underneath him and he’s balled up between Bucky’s legs. He lets out a choked sob, then stutters on his exhale and gasps on the inhale. Bucky puts a hand on his back and rubs slow circles into his skin. Steve goes to grab him, forgetting that he’s actually naked for once, and accidentally digs his nails into Bucky’s skin.

 

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry,” Steve gasps when Bucky gasps in pain. He lays his palm flat over the red marks and ducks his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, ‘m sorry –”

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, baby, it was an accident –”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve hisses under his breath. He curls in on himself, he half expects to feel the still air of the room pressing in on the back of his neck.

 

However, the collar around his throat is warm.

 

“It’s fine, baby,” Bucky is saying, “calm down, you’re gonna hyperventilate, honey, slow down.”

 

Steve reaches for Bucky’s hand and pulls it around to the back of his neck. He presses closer to Bucky’s warmth, the reassuring smell of his body, even the faint aroma of peppermint from the lotion. He stops apologizing and sucks in a long, stuttering breath, before letting it out in a shaking exhale.

 

Bucky rubs his fingers and thumb into the back of his neck. “That’s it,” he murmurs, “deep breaths, Stevie.”

 

Steve sucks in another breath. Bucky’s warmth feels more like home than his shitty apartment ever did; hiding in Bucky’s embrace feels more like home than the crumbling brownstone Steve had been raised in. He feels safe here. Not a damn soul can touch him while he belongs to Bucky.

 

When his breathing evens out, Bucky kisses his hair. “Let’s get you some clothes and water, alright?”

 

Steve nods once. Bucky changes his grip on him, putting an arm under his knees and an arm at the small of his back, and slowly rises to his feet. Steve lays his head on Bucky’s clavicle. He feels tired now.

 

“Can we just go to bed?” Steve mumbles as Bucky takes the stairs.

 

“We gotta have dinner, honey,” Bucky tells him. Steve presses a hand over his mouth, feeling disgusted, and turns his face into Bucky’s neck. “It’s lil’ finger food, sweetheart, nothing bad, I promise.”

 

Steve doesn’t want to open his mouth, afraid he might vomit.

 

“If you eat it, I’ll get you a set of watercolor paints,” Bucky says.

 

“I don’ wan’ watercolor,” Steve whispers. Which isn’t true.

 

“How about a new laptop? And a nice tablet to draw with?”

 

Steve doesn’t say anything. Slowly, he’s able to beat down the abrupt nausea and the feelings that came with it, and he lowers his hand.

 

“‘M sorry,” he says under his breath.

 

Bucky pushes open the bedroom door with his foot and says: “What for, honey?”

 

“I do want watercolor paints,” Steve admits. “I lied, I’m sorry.”

 

“I forgive you, sweetheart,” Bucky tells him. He even tips his head to the side and kisses his forehead. “I’ll buy you watercolor paints anyway.”

 

Bucky puts him down on the bed and bends to kiss his cheek. “Lie here and I’ll get you clothes.”

 

“I can dress myself,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky pauses, leaning over him. “Let me do it,” he says after a second. “Let me be sweet on you a little while longer, baby.”

 

Steve looks somewhere over his shoulder, then nods. Bucky presses a kiss to his other cheek and straightens up, walking away. He watches Bucky’s ass with unfocused eyes. Whatever they’d been doing, Steve thinks it was a scene but for how gentle Bucky had been, it was over; they’d tried and failed to carry on as if everything was fine. He doesn’t understand why Bucky wants to keep babying Steve when they aren’t going to have sex now.

 

“You’re not still mad at yourself, are you?” Steve asks.

 

At the dresser, Bucky’s shoulders tense. Steve props himself up on his elbows and stares at his back, until Bucky sighs and his shoulders deflate.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky admits. He sounds tired, too.

 

Bucky pulls boxers and then sweats on, lastly a sleeveless white undershirt. He turns around, holding another one of his shirts and a pair of boxers, and Steve lies back so Bucky can pull the boxers over his ankles and he can lift his hips. He sits up and raises his arms so Bucky can pull the same faded Army shirt over his head, and lets his arms drop when he’s done.

 

“Why?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky shrugs. “I thought I was pretty good at this. Guess I’m not.”

 

“At what?” Steve presses further. “Sex?”

 

“Well, for one thing,” Bucky says with a wry smile. “But, more at domming. And… And keeping my head on straight.”

 

Steve shifts onto his knees, kneeling on the bed in front of Bucky and he puts his arms around his neck. Bucky sets his hands at Steve’s waist, looking down instead of at him.

 

“Hey,” Steve says softly. “Y’know, you keep asking what I need and how I’m feeling and all, but you haven’t stopped to ask yourself. And I haven’t asked either, for that I’m sorry. Are you okay? Are – Are you dropping?”

 

Bucky shrugs. “Honestly? I – I don’t know.”

 

Steve touches Bucky’s face with both hands. “It’s okay,” he says gently. “You’re human, too.”

 

Bucky’s arms jerk around his waist and cinch down. Steve drops his arms around his neck and tucks his head under his jaw; Bucky hugs him hard, a hand at the back of his head and the other over his ribs, and after a second he drags in a heavy breath.

 

Steve doesn’t want to ask but he does anyway.

 

“Do you need to take a break?”

 

He says it quietly, and at first, Bucky doesn’t answer.

 

“I can stay with Darcy until my apartment can get fixed,” Steve says. His voice is surprisingly steady, only deepening with emotion. “We can – We can slow down, back off, anything you need. Just say something.”

 

Bucky’s arms tighten around him. “No,” he says hoarsely. “No, honey, I – I can’t explain it, but I don’t want to lose you, either.”

 

Steve pulls his face from Bucky’s neck and kisses him firmly. Bucky’s fingers dig into the back of his head and his ribs; over his ribs, his grip is harder. It might bruise. Steve wants it to. He wants to be reminded this is real wherever possible.

 

They break apart, panting. Bucky moves his hand from the back of his head to his cheek, sweeping at his face with a thumb, and Steve lets their foreheads touch so they breathe the same air.

 

“I don’t ever want to lose you,” Bucky says quietly.

 

“The feeling’s mutual,” Steve whispers.

 

Bucky pulls him into another kiss, a softer one that still leaves Steve’s spine losing tension and air escape his lungs. Steve can’t explain it either, it’s only been three weeks since he met Bucky, but he already feels like he’s falling in love with him.

 

When Bucky pulls back again to kiss his nose and cheek and rest their foreheads together, Steve says nothing. He hardly wants to admit it to himself, and _love_ is still the only four-letter word he’s not willing to say.

 

Then Bucky murmurs something softly in Romanian, something that Steve thinks he’s heard him say before but still doesn’t understand.

 

“What does that mean?” he asks quietly.

 

Bucky kisses him briefly. “I’ll tell you eventually,” he answers and lifts Steve off the bed. “Come on, I’ll put the pizza rolls in the oven and we can watch TV while it cooks.”

 

Steve nods reluctantly and Bucky scoops him up into a bridal carry. Steve grabs his neck and shoulders, then laughs and relaxes in his arms. If Bucky wants to keep carrying him around the rest of the day, Steve isn’t going to complain.

 

Bucky carries him back downstairs, but puts him on the sofa instead of on the floor cushion this time. He picks up the blanket from the ground and drapes it over his lap, and Steve pulls it up over his shoulders, slumping into a corner of the sectional couch.

 

Bucky leans over him, his shadow covering his body, and kisses his cheek. “I’ll get dinner in the oven,” he says, before walking away. Steve finds the TV remote and unmutes the TV; the narrator of Planet Earth is talking about piranhas. He switches to cable, then flicks through the guide for a while, trying to find something to watch.

 

He ends up picking Cartoon Network; there’s a re-run of the original Pokemon on, and Steve feels like the nostalgia would do him good.

 

Bucky returns from the kitchen and glances briefly at the TV before plopping down beside him. Steve automatically curls into him, and Bucky drapes his arm around his shoulders, squeezing once.

 

“Let’s go see a movie tomorrow,” Bucky says abruptly.

 

Steve looks up at him, frowning.

 

“Like a date,” Bucky explains. “Like normal people. We can go out for ice cream after and tell each other our favorite colors.”

 

“Okay,” Steve agrees, though confused.

 

“You were right when you said we were doing stuff backwards,” Bucky says. He shrugs a little, shaking his head. “I thought that if we were just open about what we were doing, we didn’t need to have a relationship with strings, we could just fuck and I could complain about shit to you and you could have nice things – We could do without having to go through all the awkward beginning moments.”

 

He pauses, frowning, and Steve waits for him to finish. “I thought we could do without,” Bucky says. He sounds ashamed. “But I was wrong, and you deserve better than that. I want to treat you right now.”

 

“Are we slowing down?” Steve asks. He doesn’t want to think about not sleeping next to Bucky, not now.

 

“Only a little bit,” Bucky says with a smile. “I don’t wanna pretend that I’d be able to see you every day and not get a hard-on when you bend over, so I’m not taking sex off the table entirely unless you want to.”

 

“No,” Steve says. “What do you mean entirely?”

 

Bucky reaches up and lifts the tag of his collar. “Maybe we should stop exploring kinks for now. Just… Just explore each other.”

 

“I like being kinky,” Steve mutters peevishly. Bucky breaks into a smile but shakes his head. “Besides, you said no hard stuff until I talk with my shrink.”

 

“I did say that,” Bucky sighs.

 

“You can keep being sweet to me,” Steve suggests shyly. He reaches up, too, and touches his collar. “I can just be your dolly for now.”

 

“Alright,” Bucky agrees, exhaling the word. “If you’re sure, honey.”

 

“Are you sure?” Steve asks quickly.

 

Bucky nods and kisses his cheek. “As long as I got you,” he says.

 

Steve catches his lips and reaches up to carefully curl a fist into his shirt. He doesn’t want to dig his nails into Bucky’s skin again.

 

He settles against Bucky’s shoulder, pulling his legs up on the sofa and curling under the blanket, while Bucky’s arms wrap around him and lock together. Steve puts his head in the crook of his neck and wraps one arm around his body and the other he folds between them.

 

“While we’re being normal people,” Steve starts and he feels Bucky looking down on him. “I really like you cuddling me.”

 

“I will do so at any opportunity,” Bucky promises gravely. Steve snorts and drops against his shoulder.

 

He faces the TV again, smiling as Team Rocket blast off again, and Bucky prods him. “What is this, anyway?”

“It’s Pokemon,” Steve says.

 

“Really?” Bucky says, laughing. “Stevie, I think Sasha watches this show.”

 

“Then he has good taste,” Steve affirms and Bucky laughs again. “This came out when I was a teenager. For the longest time, cartoons were my escape. I even thought about becoming an animator when I grew up.”

 

“Why not do it?” Bucky says. Steve looks at him, raising his eyebrows. “You can, I’ll pay your tuition, you can go to NYU, you can fulfill your dream, Steve.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Steve starts.

 

“Don’t ask,” Bucky says, catching Steve’s shoulder and grinning. “What else do I got all this money for? Take it, no strings, I’ll pay the whole four years upfront.”

 

“No, that’s – that’s too much,” Steve insists. Bucky drops his gaze, nodding. “Well –” he adds, thinking, and Bucky lights up.

 

“What?” he says. “Anything, you name it.”

 

“You could set up a scholarship,” Steve says. Bucky nods for him to go on. “If I’m good enough –”

 

“Of course you’re good enough,” Bucky interrupts and Steve presses a hand over his lips. “Mphm?” Bucky says.

 

“I am not finished,” Steve says firmly.

 

“Mphm,” Bucky agrees.

 

“You can create a scholarship,” Steve repeats, “and I’ll apply to get it, and the school can decide if I deserve it.”

 

“Mmm,” Bucky says. Steve removes his hand. “Only if I can make a scholarship big enough to guarantee there’s enough room for you to be picked.”

 

“Like, how big?” Steve asks suspiciously.

 

“A few million?” Bucky suggests.

 

“Oh, just a few million?” Steve asks. Bucky shrugs and Steve shakes his head, smiling. “For, what, a full ride for ten people?”

 

“I think that sounds fair,” Bucky agrees. “For people with GED’s.”

 

“That means I have to get a GED first,” Steve answers, narrowing his eyes even as his smile grows. “Which, you’ll pay for, too?”

 

“Only if you want me, too,” Bucky says with a grin.

 

“You’re awful,” Steve tells him and Bucky just laughs. “No, you’re legitimately awful. Who gave you the right to be so kind? I wanna talk to your supervisor.”

 

“Hold on,” Bucky says, leaning to one side. He picks up his phone, fiddles with it, then holds it up. With the camera open. Facing forward. “There you go.”

 

Steve tries to look sternly at his own face, then at Bucky, but his resolve cracks. “Really?”

“Hey, closest thing I got to a supervisor,” Bucky defends himself, then drops the phone and pulls him down into a short kiss. “Heads of the family don’t answer to nobody but their partners.”

 

Steve leans back, looking at him. Bucky keeps smiling, now petting through his hair.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “I guess that’s what we are. Partners.”

 

Bucky smiled brighter. “Partners,” he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _if you liked this, hmu with a comment or reblog chaos's art. i'll see you tomorrow morning with chapter seventeen, **you be the dragon, i’ll be the gold**. ta-ta for now!_
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>  **dragă** = _darling_
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	17. you be the dragon, I’ll be the gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i hope you guys have been enjoyed the fluff, bc i have more for you_

##  _you be the dragon, I’ll be the gold_

 

Steve leans in and kisses Bucky again. Bucky curls a hand in his hair, the other at his back. Steve lifts onto his knees to lace his fingers behind Bucky’s neck, slanting his mouth on Bucky’s and distantly, the oven timer goes off.

 

“No,” Steve complains when Bucky sighs and pulls back. “Let it beep, Buck –”

 

“And one of us or both will get a headache,” Bucky insists, getting up. “Then dinner will burn, and it’ll catch fire, and the smoke alarm will go off and we’ll have to evacuate the building, and you’ll be half naked and I’ll have to share with the whole damn street and I don’t share, Stevie.”

 

Steve groans and flops onto the sofa. “You worry too much,” he says, pouting.

 

“I worry just enough,” Bucky assures him, bending to peck his cheek.

 

Steve continues to pout, then half-heartedly smacks Bucky’s ass as he passes. Bucky spins as he walks and wags a finger scoldingly at him, but Steve just laughs. Bucky grins, too, shaking his head as he disappears into the kitchen.

 

“Hurry back,” Steve calls after him.

 

“Yeah, yeah!”

 

Steve let his temple fall onto the cushions, looking back at the TV. The episode of Pokemon has by then ended and been replaced with the new Teen Titans. Out of principle, Steve wrinkles his nose and goes fishing for the remote. He flips channels for a while, until lands on the channel previously known as ABC Family and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. It’s near the end, and unfortunately, Chamber of Secrets is not to follow. Beetlejuice is, and Steve’s not really in the mood for that. He leaves Sorcerer’s Stone on while he scrolls through the guide, looking for something better.

 

Bucky re-enters, carrying a couple of plates. Steve pauses to lift onto an elbow, looking at them, and spots the expected pizza rolls, but also a bowl of fruit.

 

“Is that your attempt at a complete breakfast?” Steve asks, grinning.

 

“Shuddup,” Bucky says as he chuckles and shakes his head again. “It’s to counteract all the chemicals that are probably in these things,” he adds as he sets the plate and bowl on the coffee table.

 

Steve leans forward and takes one, popping it in his mouth quickly before his head can catch up with the action. “Taste good,” he says with his mouth full.

 

“You’ve earned the watercolors, doll,” Bucky tells him, tossing his legs off the sofa to sit down.

 

Steve flushes and shows him his middle finger, and Bucky rolls his eyes at him.

 

“What’re we watching now?” Bucky asks, pulling Steve’s legs into his lap instead.

 

“I’m trying to figure that out,” Steve answers. “Beetlejuice is on after this.”

 

“I like Beetlejuice,” Bucky protests lightly.

 

“It’s too much effort,” Steve groans. “I wanna watch, like, the Great British Bake-off. Something chill.”

 

“Chill?” Bucky echoes. “Like, Netflix and chill?”

 

Steve stops flicking through the channels, blinks at the TV, and looks at Bucky. “Oh,” he exhales. “My. God.”

 

“What?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve starts kicking him half-heartedly, bursting into laughter. “You old man! You don’t even know what that means!”

 

“I’m thirty-eight years old!” Bucky laughs, trying to block Steve’s feet and catching him by the ankle briefly before he wrenches it away and kicks him again. “What’s it mean?”

 

“It means come over to watch TV for five minutes and then let’s have sex while the TV keeps playing in the background!” Steve yells.

 

“I didn’t know that!” Bucky tries to defend himself.

 

“It does not take a genius to work it out!”

 

“I’m not versed in memes!” Bucky keeps laughing.

 

Steve stops kicking him. “I’m dating a caveman,” he says. “My god, I’m dating a caveman.”

 

“Well, if you say so,” Bucky chuckles, then pounces on him.

 

Steve shrieks with laughter and pretends to try and fight him off, but Bucky growls playfully and pins his hands above his head.

 

“You did say you were dating a caveman,” Bucky points out, then bites the meat of his shoulder.

 

“Okay, okay, it’s not a bad thing!” Steve squeals. “I yield, I yield!”

 

“Rah, me no understand your funny words,” Bucky says in an exaggerated voice, then starts kissing his neck sloppily. “Me caveman, me want Omega.”

 

“Fuck off,” Steve giggles.

 

“Me no understand,” Bucky tries to say, but breaks off into laughter halfway through and the effect is lost. Well, the dramatic effect is lost, but the result leaves Steve laughing twice as hard. Bucky kisses his ear and sits back, still holding Steve’s hands, and grins down at him. “Me want my Omega,” Bucky adds, chuckling.

 

“You’ve got me,” Steve answers. “Here, I won’t even fake-resist you anymore.”

 

To prove his point, Steve goes lax under him. Bucky ducks and kisses the other side of his neck gently.

 

“Atta boy,” he purrs, and Steve smiles a bit. Then Bucky lifts off of him again, pulling him up by a hand, and tucks him into his side. “Now, eat at least ten of those and you’ll get watercolor and oil paints.”

 

“You’re turned into my sugar daddy at this point,” Steve tells him, but takes another pizza roll and pops it into his mouth.

 

“I’m fine with that,” Bucky says, squeezing him by the waist.

 

“I’m not actually calling you daddy, though,” Steve adds. Bucky shrugs.

 

“Honestly, you could call me whatever you wanted and I’d be happy with it,” he says. “Even if you really did want to call me daddy. The fact that you’re trusting me with your submission is what would matter to me.”

 

“God, you’re such a sap,” Steve chuckles.

 

Bucky beams at him, then pecks him on the cheek. “I enjoy being sweet with you, is that so wrong, dragă mea?”

 

“Maybe not,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky grins wider, if that was possible, and kisses his cheek again. Several times.

 

“Omg, seriously, fuck off,” Steve groans, trying to wave him off. “I’m trying to eat!”

 

“And you will be rewarded for your efforts,” Bucky promises.

 

“Flattery might get you somewhere,” Steve says vaguely.

 

“Like where?” Bucky asks with a laugh.

 

“Play your cards right and you might get to go to bed with me,” Steve tells him and Bucky throws his head back to laugh.

 

“Baby,” Bucky wheezes out, then grabs Steve by the waist and hauls him closer; Steve grins and lets himself be manhandled into Bucky’s lap. “Baby,” Bucky laughs again, “your bed is my bed, honey.”

 

“Exactly!” Steve laughs, and Bucky squeezes him as his body shakes from laughter. “You get into it anyway, it’s a guarantee.”

 

“Ah, oh Doamne,” Bucky murmurs, wiping a tear from his eye. “Dragă, I wanna keep you.”

 

“Keep me, then,” Steve answers easily; he drops his head onto Bucky’s shoulder and looks up at him. “You can be a dragon instead of a caveman if I’m your gold.”

 

Bucky smiles down at him; he slips a finger over his cheek to cup his jaw, then leans down and kisses him tenderly. Steve presses a hand to his cheek, smiling into the kiss.

 

“You’ll be my most prized treasure,” Bucky says as he pulls back. “I’ll guard you jealously.”

 

“I’d like that,” Steve tells him softly.

 

Bucky presses their foreheads together and Steve lets his eyes fall shut as they breathe the same air.

 

Steve thinks – maybe, just maybe – that he’s got nothing to worry about. There’s a four-letter word floating around in the shared air between them, and right now, it doesn’t feel like it would be very one-sided.

 

Dragons never relinquish their gold. And wolves mate for life. Bucky sweeps a finger across his jaw, looking at him like he’s precious and not just a pretty boy with a tight ass, and Steve is not worried a bit any longer.

 

The rest of their evening is quiet. It’s not the same quiet that Bucky could bring over Steve’s mind by tying him up, it’s a different but still pleasant quiet. It’s Steve flicking grapes at Bucky during Cupcake Wars until he’s distracted from Kelly’s fondant disaster and pins Steve to the couch again. It’s them laughing every time Bucky fakes the caveman voice. It’s how they wind up sprawled on the couch; Bucky slumped against the arm of the sofa and Steve lying on his chest, their legs tangled together and one of Bucky’s hands shoved down the back of his shorts from lazy making out that turned into lazy snuggling.

 

Steve falls asleep like that; his head pillowed on Bucky’s shoulder, Cupcake Wars still playing and the last bits of fruit and pizza rolls abandoned on the coffee table. When his eyelids begin to droop, Bucky starts rubbing up and down his spine with the hand not pushed down his boxers. He begins to softly hum, too quiet to hear over the TV but deep enough in his chest that Steve feels its tremors.

 

Steve thinks Bucky may have begun to sing, too, but he falls asleep before he can really pick up the words.

 

The incessant beep of an alarm clock wakes him. Steve groans and rolls over to bury his face in a pillow, then it cuts off and he sighs, determined to go back to sleep. He almost does, too.

 

But then lips press to the back of his neck.

 

“Time to get up, dragă,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“No,” Steve moans.

 

“Nope, s’time for breakfast.”

 

“Fuck you,” Steve mutters. Behind him, Bucky laughs.

 

“C’mon, honey, you can go back to sleep when I leave for work.”

 

Steve groans again and rolls over to squint at Bucky. He’s propped up on an elbow and smiling down at him, and slowly, Steve blinks his eyes until he’s more awake, just to look at him. Bucky’s eyes are squinting somewhat, his stubble a bit more wild than elegant, and his hair is a curly mess.

 

Steve reaches up and touches it, then runs his fingers through it, thinking that he looks just as lovely rumpled from sleep as he does put-together. The knots and curls dislodge easily, and Bucky chuckles softly at him.

 

“You wanna play with my hair, baby?” he asks gently. Steve just yawns, then nods and Bucky smiles down at him fondly. “Alright, c’mon.”

 

Bucky pushes his arms under Steve’s knees and back and lifts him up. Steve flops onto his shoulder and reaches up with both hands to comb through Bucky’s hair. It’s soft and cool and smells clean where the ends tickle his nose. Steve is finding more and more things to fall in love with in this man by the minute.

 

“First order of the day,” Bucky announces as they enter the kitchen, “coffee.”

 

“Good,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky doesn’t put him in a chair or on a stool. He sets Steve on the marble counter and frames his hips with his hands to kiss him. Steve wrinkles his nose.

 

“Morning breath,” he says. Bucky rolls his eyes and pulls away. “Did I brush my teeth last night?” Steve adds while Bucky starts making coffee.

 

“Nope,” Bucky says, “you passed out and I wasn’t about to wake you up.”

 

“Gross,” Steve whispers. “Next time, wake me up.”

 

Bucky shoots a smile over his shoulder. Steve finds himself blushing for no reason and looks down at his feet. He’s wearing socks, which he doesn’t recall having put on before bed. He tips his head to the side, wiggling his toes, while in the background, Bucky makes a pot of coffee.

 

“Did you put socks on me?” Steve asks.

 

“You said your toes were cold,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve smiles. Bucky passes him and brushes a hand over his knees as he moves to the fridge. Steve’s smile grows and he looks up at Bucky’s back as he digs around in the fridge. Looking properly and a bit more awake, he sees that Bucky is wearing loose sleep pants and slippers, his torso bare. Steve watches him pause to scratch a spot on his lower back and thinks that, yes, it was worth getting out of bed to see this.

 

Who else would have ever been given the privilege of early morning Bucky Barnes? Bucky had said he didn’t trust anyone enough to sleep in the same bed, so who else would have been given the sight of Bucky’s bedhead and bleary eyes and relaxed shoulders? Steve doubts Bucky would have shared breakfast at home like this with anyone in a long time. Bucky yawns as he takes a jug of orange juice from the fridge and goes to shut it and Steve smiles, feeling blessed.

 

Bucky notices him staring and raises an eyebrow. He sets the orange juice on the counter and walks over, setting his hands on the counter either side of Steve’s hips and leaning in.

 

“What’chu lookin’ at, doll?” he murmurs.

 

Steve reaches up and tangles his hands in Bucky’s unkempt hair. “You,” he says simply.

 

Bucky smiles and gives a soft laugh, then cups his jaw and pecks his cheek. “You’re adorable,” Bucky says fondly and Steve grins at him.

 

“What’s for breakfast?” Steve asks as Bucky pulls away.

 

“What’d’ya want?” Bucky counters, taking glasses from cupboard. “I got eggs, cereal, bacon, toaster waffles.”

 

“Toaster waffles,” Steve sniggers.

 

“I like toaster waffles,” Bucky defends. He puts the glasses down next to where Steve’s sitting and pours juice. Steve looks down his torso, shaking his head. “I got microwave egg sandwiches in the freezer,” Bucky adds.

 

“Your fridge is a bachelor’s fridge,” Steve says.

 

Bucky shrugs. “Probably because I’m a bachelor.”

 

“Was a bachelor,” Steve corrects absently.

 

Bucky smiles at the orange juice. “You’re right, dragă,” he says. He screws the cap back on the bottle and puts it away, then hands Steve a glass and holds his up. “To the end of my bachelorness,” he says.

 

“Bachelorhood?” Steve says questioningly.

 

“Bachelorhood,” Bucky agrees. Steve nods and they clink their glasses. Steve giggles into his juice as Bucky smacks his lips and sighs. Steve keeps giggling and Bucky raises his eyebrows. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Steve wheezes. “I’m barely awake, I’m just giggly like that.” He pushes a hand around Bucky’s neck and pulls him into a kiss, orange juice/morning breath taste be damned.

 

Bucky puts a hand on his hip and steps between his knees. He doesn’t take control of the kiss, isn’t passive, either. Steve breaks into a grin and Bucky pecks his stretched lips, then just stays there, leaning their foreheads together with his eyes shut.

 

“I know what I want for breakfast,” Steve declares.

 

“What?” Bucky says softly.

 

“Cock,” Steve says, grinning.

 

Bucky’s eyes snap open and dilate rapidly. “You cannot just spring that on me,” he mutters, then ducks in to kiss him harder.

 

Steve giggles again under him. He puts down his glass and twines his other hand into Bucky’s hair, slipping closer to the edge of the counter so Bucky can grind into his body. Bucky’s hands grip his ass, then lift him off the counter and he walks away. Steve gets his feet under him as Bucky lowers him, then holds onto him for stability as Bucky breaks the kiss.

 

“You gonna be a good doll for me?” Bucky murmurs.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers happily.

 

“Wait here,” Bucky says. He pulls away and Steve holds onto the table next to him as Bucky steps out of the kitchen.

 

He returns with the floor pillow Steve had been sitting on last night. Bucky drops it onto the floor by the table, adjusts it, then steps back.

 

“Kneel,” Bucky says.

 

Steve settles himself onto the pillow on his knees, pulling his shirt out from under his ass and resting on his heels, then sets his hands on his thighs and looks up.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky says gently.

 

He steps closer and sets a hand at Steve’s jaw, then sweeps his thumb around to touch his lower lip. Steve is reminded of the night they met, when he first reclined in Bucky’s lap and Bucky set a thumb on his lip to appraise him. Steve had then simply sucked it into his mouth, just to see what would happen. This time, Steve parts his lips, and then he just waits.

 

Bucky smirks and pushes his thumb between his lips. Steve closes his lips and his eyes and sucks lightly on his thumb. He runs his tongue up its length on either side, pushes at the tip with the flat of his tongue, then lays his tongue underneath Bucky’s thumb and rolls it, using his piercing to press up under the pad of it.

 

“Such a good boy,” Bucky purrs, pushing through Steve’s hair with his other hand. “I want you to wait here while I get our actual breakfast ready. You can have my cock for dessert, honey.”

 

Steve nods and lets Bucky pull his thumb from his mouth. Bucky lets it over in front of his lips for a second, holding his chin to tilt his face up, and Steve takes that moment to press a quick, wet kiss to the tip of Bucky’s thumb.

 

“You’re so sweet, baby boy,” Bucky praises him, a grin splitting his lips. “Happy to wait patiently to have my cock, hmm? What a treat you are.”

 

Steve’s ears heat up and he drops his eyelids, embarrassed by how much he obviously loves this. Bucky chuckles and taps the underside of his chin once. Steve sucks in a breath, but looks back up on the cue and meets his gaze.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky tells him. “Thank you for showing me those pretty eyes, dolly. If you do well, I’ll let you touch yourself while you suck my dick.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve answers quietly.

 

Bucky gives a light nod and taps his wet thumb against Steve’s chin once. Then he takes a step back and walks back to the fridge.

 

Steve bites his lip and curls his hands into fists, resettling his weight on his cushion. He blinks slowly, still only partly awake as he yawns while Bucky starts cooking, and holds his head up purely in anticipation of getting Bucky’s member on his tongue. He sways back and forth a little to an inaudible song, the faint beating of his heart, and Bucky clattering around making breakfast.

 

Steve licks his lips whenever Bucky looks back at him, just to remind him. Bucky always smirks and carries on with what he’s doing. Steve is running low on patience, but he wants desperately to be a good doll for Bucky.

 

Finally, Bucky carries two plates over to the table. He sets them down, steps off to get forks and their orange glasses, then pours coffee for both of them and takes the time to add cream and sugar to his. Steve’s cushion is right next to the table. Bucky pulls back his chair and drops into it, and Steve makes a sudden decision.

 

“You gonna sit down?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve shifts on his cushion instead, so now he faces Bucky’s chair. He shakes his head.

 

“You wanna eat down there?” Bucky adds, raising an eyebrow.

 

Steve shakes his head again. Bucky’s brows tighten in the center, creating a thick line that creases his forehead. His hand comes to rest on Steve’s hair, sweeping down over the back of his head.

 

“What’s the matter?” Bucky says gently.

 

“You could feed me,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky‘s eyebrows lift and Steve drops his gaze. Bucky taps his chin and he looks up, feeling his cheeks going hot.

 

“What are your words?” Bucky asks him carefully.

 

“Brooklyn to stop and Jersey to slow down or check-in,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky reaches down and grips his chin. “Are you sure?” he asks.

 

“I wanna try it,” Steve says, feeling shy but keeping his gaze level.

 

Bucky thumbs at his lip. Steve parts his lips, but Bucky doesn’t push his thumb in this time. He looks away and picks up a fork with his other hand, picks at something on his plate, then turns and, still holding his jaw, holds the fork before Steve’s lips.

 

Steve opens his mouth fully. Bucky pushes the fork in and Steve pulls the piece of scrambled egg off of it, chews, and swallows while Bucky watches carefully. Bucky smiles at him and brushes his fingers through his hair. Steve, feeling a little self-conscious, drops his gaze briefly, until Bucky taps his chin and he looks up again obediently.

 

“Very good, honey,” he praises. He takes another forkful of egg and holds it out to him. Steve pulls the food off the fork and chews slowly. “I’ll ask what your number is now and then,” Bucky tells him. “Five’ll be you want to stop and one is you’re fine to keep going. Anything more than three and we’re gonna take a breather. Got it?”

 

Steve nods. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course,” Bucky says.

 

He pets through Steve’s hair as he continues to feed him the egg. Occasionally, he pauses to take bites himself, using the same fork. On every bite Steve swallows, Bucky smiles and tells him _good boy, honey._

 

Steve is surprised to find himself slipping towards the quiet place in his head. Bucky keeps petting him and maybe that’s it, Steve always becomes a bit of a limp noodle once someone gets really into petting him, but any apprehension he had thought he’d have is completely absent. When Bucky isn’t holding forkfuls of egg out to him, Steve lets his face rest on his thigh and shuts his eyes, enjoying Bucky coming through his hair with his fingers.

 

“What’s your number, babydoll?”

 

“One,” Steve answers easily.

 

“Are you getting floaty?”

 

Steve shakes his head. It’s not subspace, it’s just calm.

 

“Let me know if you are.”

 

Steve lets out a quiet hum and Bucky nudges the fork against his lips. He parts them without even opening his eyes, chewing and swallowing the small bite before humming again lightly.

 

“You getting full, honey?”

 

“A bit,” Steve says.

 

“You want some toast?”

 

Steve shakes his head. Bucky scratches his nails gently against his scalp and Steve lets out a soft sigh.

 

“Drink some juice for me, baby.”

 

Steve lets Bucky hold the glass to his lips and takes small mouthfuls, shaking his head when he’s done. Bucky bends over and kisses the top of his head and Steve smiles.

 

“That’s all, sweetheart,” Bucky says. “How’re you feeling?”

 

Steve smiles. “Good,” he says. “Better than I thought.”

 

“That’s great,” Bucky tells him. “You wanna go back upstairs and sit in the bathroom while I take a shower?”

 

Steve reaches up and tugs on his thigh. “No,” he says, “I want my dessert.”

 

“You don’t have to, baby,” Bucky tells him gently

 

“I want to,” Steve says, tugging on his thigh again. “Please, sir?”

 

“Damn,” Bucky murmurs. “When you ask so sweetly, dolly…”

 

Bucky shifts around in his chair and Steve sits up so he can turn around. Bucky leaves the hand in his hair as he turns to face him, then parts his knees and pulls Steve in. Steve noses at the waistband of his pants, letting his parted lips rub over the fabric as Bucky strokes his hair.

 

“You did real good for me, baby boy,” Bucky says quietly. “If you’d like to reach down your shorts and play with your pretty cock while you suck me off, I’d enjoy the show.”

 

Steve’s heart rate picks up at Bucky’s phrasing. The calmness in his head hasn’t left a lot of room for arousal, but Steve wants to please Bucky, he wants to make his Alpha’s blood heat up. He rubs his nose along the outline in Bucky’s pants, then brushes his lips against it, his eyes shut and blood rising in his cheeks. He slips a hand under his shirt.

 

“There now,” Bucky murmurs. “That’s a good boy. Would you like to come while you suck me off, dolly?”

 

Steve shakes his head. “Later?”

 

“That’s alright,” Bucky says. “You don’t need to touch yourself if you don’t want to.”

 

Steve shakes his head again. “Want you to watch,” he says.

 

Bucky’s fingers tighten in his hair. “Is that so?” he asks carefully. Steve nods. “Alright then,” Bucky says. “Go on and touch yourself, baby.”

 

Steve shivers and pushes down the waistband of his boxers. He parts his lips and breaths through his mouth so his breath will warm the front of Bucky’s pants and lets his fingers close. Bucky pulls his face away from his groin and pulls down his own waistband. Steve licks his lips, looking first straight ahead, then flicking his gaze up to Bucky’s.

 

“Kiss it,” Bucky orders gently. Steve, shivering, does. “Give it a lick, dolly. Get your tongue wet.”

 

Steve follows his instructions, and the quiet place in his head gets bigger.

 

“Suck just a little,” Bucky tells him. “Gentle, now. Be a good boy and play with yourself so I can see, sweet thing.”

 

Steve’s eyes fall closed, all he has to do is listen to Bucky and enjoy the taste on his tongue as the edges of his mind grow distant.

 

“Do you want me to come on your face or down your throat, pretty baby?” Bucky asks roughly.

 

Steve hums, indecisive.

 

“You going floaty on me, honey?” Bucky asks, pulling him off.

 

“Fuzzy,” Steve says.

 

“Then you’d better work your mouth a little harder, doll,” Bucky tells him. “Go on, now, show your sir how good you are at sucking dick, baby boy.”

 

Steve pouts at having to actually work, but opens his mouth wider to duck his head. It requires more conscious thought from him and now all Bucky tells him is what to do while he’s touching himself. He is, by now, fully aroused and open to having an orgasm now as well as later, and he pulls his mouth off Bucky with a wet slurp to look up at him and say so.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” Bucky says, his voice heavy, “you can come at any time before I do, but if you can’t get there first, you’ll have to wait for tonight.”

 

Steve tips his head. “What’re you doing tonight?”

 

Bucky grins at him. “Aw, I’m just gonna dick you down ‘til you can’t walk, honey.”

 

Steve grips his hand harder and sucks in a breath. He nods.

 

“Don’t slow down on me, though,” Bucky tells him, gripping his hair. “I want your full attention on my cock. You understand, pretty?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers and hastens to get back to work. Bucky’s breathing is getting heavy above him, his thighs clench and tremble around Steve’s head and his hand is tightening into a fist in his hair. Steve is not far off, either.

 

“I’ll ask again, baby,” Bucky says with a hint of a growl, “you want me to come on your face or in your mouth?”

 

Steve doesn’t want to pull off to answer. So he relaxes his throat and lets his nose come to rest against the line of Bucky’s torso and thigh.

 

“Down your throat, then?” Bucky growls fully then. “You’re gonna spoil me if you keep this up, pretty boy, takin’ my cock to the hilt like this all the damn time. It’s like you were born with no gag reflex.”

 

Steve hums, carefully rolling his tongue.

 

“I’m close, baby,” Bucky says, “I hope you are, too. I wanna see you come all over your pretty fist. Baby, you come and I’ll nut down your throat right after.”

 

Steve hums, almost whimpering, and works his fingers faster. He pulls back to get a deep breath, then pushes back down and feels pre-come slipping down his throat. Bucky’s tense around him, like he wants to take over instead of making Steve work for it, which just makes him want it more. Steve pushes his fingers down to swipe up slick pooling in his boxers to get his palm wet and slurps drool and pre-come into his mouth.

 

“That’s good, baby boy,” Bucky pants above him, “get your pretty little dick all wet and fuck your fist so I can watch.”

 

Steve pants when he pulls back to breathe, flicking his tongue piercing and rolling the tip of his tongue. His fingers are slipping, his concentration being split between his pleasure and Bucky’s, knowing that Bucky wants to see him orgasm and wanting to taste Bucky’s in equal measure. He moves his hand faster because he wants Bucky to come down his throat. He no longer gives a fuck about the fact that he wants Bucky’s orgasm more than he wants his own.

 

“C’mon, pretty boy,” Bucky growls, “come for me.”

 

Steve whimpers, sinking his mouth down again and relaxing his throat, working his hand harder even as his throat convulses, trying to swallow all the pre-come Bucky’s dripping down the back of his mouth.

 

“Come, pretty baby,” Bucky demands, “come for your sir.”

 

Steve gasps, or tries to, hardly keeping his lips tight as he spills over his hand and sags against Bucky’s chair and leg. Then he has to swallow hard as Bucky grunts and climaxes down his throat, leaving a satisfying salty taste coating the back of his mouth.

 

Steve rests his cheek against Bucky’s thigh, almost suckling lightly at the now soft weight on his tongue. Bucky blows out his breath hard and pulls Steve’s head back, pulling him off. Steve whines a little as the weight slips from his mouth.

 

“Damn, sweetheart,” Bucky exhales. “The faces you make…”

 

Bucky ducks and kisses him. Steve lets his mouth be invaded by Bucky’s tongue, content and pleased, and Bucky gropes him absently, rubbing the inside of his wrist over the small of his back and the crest of his hip.

 

“I gotta get a shower,” Bucky mutters as he pulls back. He fixes Steve’s boxers for him, then his own pants and lifts Steve off the cushion like he’s a doll. Steve is happy to be moved around and not be forced to think for himself any longer. “You’re gonna come with me, baby, but you’re gonna have to wash yourself this morning.”

 

“Could jus’ take a nap,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Need you to get outta your head, honey,” Bucky tells him. “I want you to spend the day with a friend, alright? I don’t like the idea of you being alone at all.”

 

“‘Kay,” Steve answers. “Can I have your credit card? I’ll go shopping with Darcy.”

 

“Sure,” Bucky says. “We’ll clean up the kitchen later. Fuck, baby, I think you sucked my brains out. Hang on.”

 

Bucky puts Steve down on their bed and he falls onto his back, satisfied and spent. Bucky returns a second later, then pulls him into a sitting position.

 

“Get up, honey,” he says. “Come shower with me.”

 

Steve nods and Bucky kisses his hair, wrapping an arm around his waist. Steve leans into his side, letting his eyes trail on the ground and his socked feet scuff the floor as Bucky guides him into the bathroom.

 

Inside, Bucky switches on the shower with the TV screen and steps out again to strip of his clothes. Steve stands by the sink, looking at nothing, then with a jolt realizes that he probably ought to undress himself. He looks down at his feet, then leans on the counter to hop on one foot and pull off his sock.

 

“I’ll get you, honey, just a second,” Bucky says.

 

Steve looks at the one sock. He shrugs and tosses it onto the floor next to Bucky’s slippers and pants. He hops up onto the sink and yawns.

 

Bucky moves to stand in front of him and takes the hem of his shirt. Steve lifts his arms automatically and Bucky pulls the shirt over his head, then he ducks and presses a quick kiss to Steve’s jaw. Steve hums and tips his head to the side to give him better access, but Bucky pulls him off the counter and pushes his boxers down off his hips. Steve puts a hand on his shoulder to lift his foot and let Bucky remove his other sock, then just leans on him period when Bucky stands up.

 

“‘M sleepy,” Steve mumbles. “Can I take a nap after?”

 

“We’ll see,” Bucky says. He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist and walks him back, Steve shuffling his feet again and barely remembering to lift his feet to step into the shower when the marble changes patterns. Bucky guides him onto the bench and Steve lays on his side immediately, yawning again and shutting his eyes.

 

“Don’t go to sleep, dragă,” Bucky says. Steve waves a dismissive hand in his direction. “Hey, c’mere and wash your hair.”

 

Steve makes a displeased face at having to get up, but swings his legs off the bench and pushes up to stand. He puts a hand on the wall for a second, dizzy from standing up, and while he blinks, Bucky moves to take his waist. Steve grabs his shoulder.

 

“You okay?” Bucky asks.

 

“Just dizzy,” Steve says. “Stood up too fast.”

 

Bucky pulls him closer. “I’ll wash your hair, sweetheart. C’mere.”

 

Steve follows him obediently, putting his head on Bucky’s chest and shutting his eyes while Bucky starts massaging his scalp under the water’s spray. Steve yawns a third time, then hugs Bucky’s waist and hums contentedly.

 

“Scale of one to five, five bad, one good,” Bucky says. “How do your knees feel?”

 

“One,” Steve says. Then scrunches up his nose, thinking about it. “Maybe one and a half.”

 

“How does your jaw and throat feel?”

 

“One,” Steve answers easily, nodding to emphasize it. “Not a problem, Buck.”

 

“How do you think you’ll feel when I leave for work?”

 

“Um,” Steve says. “Maybe… Three? Two?”

 

Bucky smooths his hair out, then lets go of his waist to take his elbow and pulls him away from the water. Steve opens his eyes, blinking, and shuts them again as Bucky reaches for shampoo. Steve sighs softly as Bucky starts working the shampoo into his hair and into a lather, then yawns yet again.

 

“You’re real sleepy there, ain’t you, baby?”

 

Steve nods.

 

“Scale of one to five, honey.”

 

“Five,” Steve says in a mumble, then grins and giggles for no reason. Bucky sweeps a hand over his back, tracing his spine.

 

“How far did you get while we were in the kitchen?” Bucky asks in a careful tone.

 

“Into what?” Steve asks vaguely.

 

“Subspace?”

 

“Nah,” Steve says. “Got calm, nice to be quiet. But didn’t go near subspace.”

Bucky smooths his soapy hair away from his forehead and his lips press to the spot between his eyebrows. Steve smiles, his hands reaching around Bucky’s waist, and Bucky pushes him gently back under the water.

 

“So you think you’d be okay if you took a nap and I wasn’t here when you woke up?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve tells him. He’d open his eyes, but there’s soap in his hair and he doesn’t want to get it in his eyes. “It’s not like we did anything serious, Buck, I’m fine.”

 

“Lemme fuss,” Bucky grumbles. Steve rolls his eyes while they’re shut and lets out a breath that turns into a yawn. “I don’t wanna risk you dropping while I’m gone again, Steve.”

 

Steve gives a slight nod. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I know you’re just trying your best.”

 

“I’m trying for sure,” Bucky sighs.

 

Steve hugs him tighter. “You’re trying your best, Buck, and I l–”

 

Steve cuts himself off hastily. He corrects and says, “I appreciate it.”

 

He’d been about to say _I love you anyway._ Which isn’t true. Steve had sworn he’d stop lying to Bucky. He isn’t in love. Yet.

 

Bucky pushes him back under the water. Steve lets his head fall back and the water hits his face as Bucky starts working the shampoo out.

 

“You’ll go shopping with your friend later,” Bucky says. “Where d’you wanna go?”

 

“Hmm,” Steve says vaguely. “Mall, probably.”

 

“I’ll send Luke and Hunter with you.”

 

“‘Kay,” Steve answers, then yawns. Water gets in his mouth and he jerks his head up, spitting it out onto the floor of the shower. Bucky just pulls him closer. “I’ll buy more panties,” Steve mumbles then, and Bucky laughs softly.

 

“Whatever you’d like,” Bucky says.

 

“Oh, whatever?” Steve counters. “What if I wanted to buy something from every store?”

 

“Alright, whatever you’d like with a budget,” Bucky says. “My credit card’s got a three hundred grand limit.”

 

Steve opens his eyes and looks up at him, squinting. “Three hundred thousand dollars?” he mutters. “Fucking hell, Bucky, I can’t spend even 1% of that!”

 

“I bet you could,” Bucky laughs. “Buy yourself an Xbox and half of Victoria’s secret and you’ll have spent a few thousand.”

 

“I’m not buying half of Victoria’s Secret,” Steve says stubbornly.

 

“A third, then,” Bucky says. “Tell you what, a few grand’s your budget, and it can include lunch if you’d like.”

 

“I won’t be able to spend that much!” Steve insists. “I couldn’t possibly spend that much, that’s ridiculous!”

 

“You don’t have to, Stevie,” Bucky laughs. “That’s the max you can spend, is all.”

 

Steve huffs. “I won’t even spend a thousand, I’ll spend, like, three hundred and feel bad about it.”

 

“Remember how much I spent on ropes just ‘cause they were blue?” Bucky reminded him with a gentle smile. “I’ve got too much money, Steve, spend a chunk of it, why don’t you.”

 

“I’ll spend a chunk of it at Gracie’s House,” Steve threatens.

 

“I don’t even know what that is,” Bucky laughs. “But go ahead.”

 

“It’s a kids’ outreach center,” Steve tells him, suddenly sobering. “I used to be there every day after school until my mom got off work.”

 

Bucky’s smile turns sad. “We can donate to them, honey,” he says gently. “It doesn’t even have to be out of your pocket money.”

 

Steve gives him a smile and lifts onto his toes to kiss him. Bucky closes a hand over the back of his neck, the other resting at his waist, and meets Steve with tenderness.

 

“It’ll be an anonymous donation,” Bucky murmurs. “Unless you wanna have your name on it.”

 

Steve shakes his head. Bucky kisses the tip of Steve's nose, then, all the shampoo rinsed from his hair, steers him away from the water to work conditioner into his hair.

 

Steve leans on him while Bucky’s nails gently scrape his scalp. He shuts his eyes and yawns again, feeling ready for that nap by now.

 

“Don’t go noodle on me,” Bucky warns. Steve cracks a grin and laughs softly. “Tell you what, when go shopping, I got a mission for ya.”

 

“What?” Steve mumbles in answer.

 

“You gotta find, uh, five things.”

 

“Like a scavenger hunt?” Steve asks, looking up to squint at him. Bucky shrugs a shoulder.

 

“Something like that,” Bucky tells him. “You gotta find them and buy them, then show ‘em off for me.”

 

“Are all these things in Victoria’s Secret?” Steve asks dryly.

 

“Am I that shallow?” Bucky counters. Steve raises an eyebrow. “Okay, some of it is.”

 

“What is it?” Steve asks.

 

“I’ll send you a list,” Bucky says. Steve rolls his eyes and Bucky flicks his chin. “No back-talk, baby.”

 

“I’ll back-talk if I wanna,” Steve mumbles, putting his cheek back on Bucky’s shoulder. “Didn’t even say nothing.”

 

Bucky pulls him back under the water without answering. Steve exhales as Bucky works the conditioner out of his hair.

 

“Go sit on the bench, dolly,” Bucky murmurs in his ear. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

 

Steve nods absently. He opens his eyes and starts to pull away from Bucky, then, on impulse, takes a second to steal a kiss. Bucky gives him a gentle smile and Steve makes his way to the marble bench off to the side.

 

He lays down and cushions his head with his arm. He blinks a few time, watching Bucky, then lets his eyes fall shut.

 

“C’mon, time to dry off, honey.”

 

Steve pushes up onto his elbow, then yawns and butts his head into Bucky’s hand. He hears Bucky give a low chuckle as he shuffles to his feet and grabs his arm to combat the headrush from standing up. Humidity and low iron, Steve guesses. Bucky lifts him off his feet and Steve lets him, feeling kind of out of it.

 

“I’ll be back in time for dinner, then we’re gonna go see a movie,” Bucky tells him as he lowers Steve onto his feet again outside the shower. “Six or six thirty if traffic isn’t too bad.”

 

“Traffic’s always bad,” Steve says.

 

“If it’s not _too_ bad, babydoll.”

 

Steve rolls his lidded eyes. Bucky grabs a towel and starts drying him off; Steve has learned not to protest. Bucky may not wear his heart on his sleeve, but all the aces have fallen out of it. He fusses because he cares. Bucky scrubs at his hair and Steve gives a lazy smile that Bucky returns. He bundles him up in the towel, then pats him on the ass when he’s done.

 

“Go nap,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve turns his head to the side. Bucky leans in and kisses his cheek automatically. Steve smiles again, stepping out of the bathroom. He drops the towel by the bed and crawls under the sheets naked, his damp hair seeping quickly into the pillowcase.

 

He keeps his eyes cracked open as Bucky goes about getting dressed. He watches Bucky slip on a tie and adjust cuff links, strap a Rolex to his wrist and push rings onto his fingers. Steve looks blearily at the rings, watching the Seyrbakov Corp. insignia flash on the signet ring Bucky wears on his left hand.

 

Bucky walks over to the bed and kneels on it to bend and kiss Steve’s wet hair. Steve reaches out and takes his left hand, then slips the signet ring off of it.

 

“What, you stealin’ from me now?” Bucky says with a soft laugh.

 

“Keep you with me,” Steve mumbles, closing his fingers over the ring. “‘Til you get me my daywear collars.”

 

Bucky smiles down at him. He takes the fist closed over the ring and lifts it, pressing a kiss to its back.

 

“Wear it on a chain, amant,” Bucky murmurs. “Keep it.”

 

“Gimme your dog tags, too,” Steve mumbles, thinking about what _amant_ means.

 

Bucky’s smile turns a little blue. “I would if I had ‘em still, baby,” he says softly. “You’ll get your day collars soon, alright?”

 

“‘Kay,” Steve exhales, his grip on the ring getting loose as sleep creeps up on him. “Gimme a kiss?”

 

Bucky holds his chin and presses their lips together sweetly. “I’ll see you tonight, amant,” he promises. “Ciao, propria mea.”

 

“Tell me what that means later,” Steve mumbles as Bucky pulls away. He shuts his eyes and burrows deeper into the blankets. He hears the door click shut, then footsteps on the stairs. Steve reaches over to Bucky’s side of the bed and takes his pillow, hugging it to his chest. He takes a deep breath. And falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i hope you enjoyed this and that you'll leave me a comment telling me what you liked. head over to chaos's tumblr and reblog the art she made if you haven't done it already and i will see you in a few hours_
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>  **Ciao, propria mea** = _Bye, my own_
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	18. forgive us this day our debts…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _you get a heartfelt and honest conversation about flaws and the past and concerns, and you get a heartfelt and honest conversation about flaws and the past and concerns, and you get a heartfelt and honest conversation about flaws and the past and concerns! there's some more heartfelt conversations coming up_

##  _forgive us this day our debts…_

  


His phone is ringing. Steve blinks his eyes open, feeling groggy, then rolls over and snatches it off the wireless charger with the feeling of panic that only comes when you don’t know what time it is and you’re sure you’re late for something. He swipes answer and presses the phone to his ear.

 

“What?” he gasps.

 

 _“Did I wake you up?”_ Bucky laughs.

 

Steve sinks back into the pillows with a sigh. He glances at the clock on Bucky’s nightstand, then lets the anxiety abate. “Yeah,” he says, breathing deep. “I forgot to set an alarm earlier, so it’s fine.”

 

_“I knew you forgot an alarm.”_

 

Steve huffs. “You could’ve just set an alarm for me. You nearly gave me a heart attack callin’ like that.”

 

 _“I’m sorry, honey,”_ Bucky answers, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh. _“I’ll do that next time.”_

 

Steve rolls his eyes and shifts onto his side, putting the phone on speaker, letting it fall to the mattress and curling up with Bucky’s pillow again. “Did you just call to wake me up?”

 

_“That and to tell you that I’m gonna bring Indian home for dinner before we go on that date.”_

 

A smile curls his lip. _Home._ Steve buries his nose in Bucky’s pillow for a second, drawing in a deep breath. “I like Indian,” he murmurs.

 

 _“Good,”_ Bucky says. _“You like it spicy, mild, or white people mild?”_

 

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “Spicy,” he answers. “But white people spicy.”

 

 _“Noted,”_ Bucky tells him. _“Oh, and Steve?”_

 

“Hmm?”

 

_“Check your texts. I want you to be modeling the stuff I told you to get when I get home.”_

 

Steve’s smile grows. “Yes, sir.”

 

 _“I’ll see you tonight,”_ Bucky says. _“Ciao, propria mea.”_

 

“What does that mean?” Steve asks. “I mean, the last bit, I know what _ciao_ means.”

 

 _“I’ll tell you tonight,”_ Bucky answers. _“Fi un ou bun, să ai grijă de papusa mea.”_

 

“What does that mean?” Steve groans in frustration.

 

 _“Ciao, amant,”_ Bucky cackles.

 

“Ciao, motherfucker,” Steve tells him. “See if you get at my ass tonight.”

 

_“I’ll get at your ass, dragă, seeing as it’s mine.”_

 

“Ciao, smug motherfucker!” Steve says. “I’m hanging up!”

 

 _“Ai grijă de fundul meu!”_ Bucky laughs. Steve hangs up.

 

“How much does Rosetta Stone cost?” Steve mumbles to himself. He spends a minute Googling it, then sighs and checks his texts like Bucky told him to.

 

His eyebrows shoot up. He screenshots the list and sends it to Darcy before FaceTiming her.

 

It takes her a minute to answer. All he sees is her ceiling.

 

“Whatever you woke me up for better be good, Rogers,” Darcy’s voice comes through.

 

“Bucky wants me to spend a few grand at the mall,” Steve tells her.

 

Darcy’s fingers slap at the phone. The picture shifts, tilts, and Darcy’s rumpled face comes into view.

 

“What,” she mutters.

 

“Bucky wants me to spend a thousand dollars on Victoria’s Secret,” Steve says.

 

“If you’re gonna spend a grand on underwear, buy designer,” Darcy says, yawning. “Why did you wake me up?”

 

“Oh, you’re coming with me,” Steve adds.

 

Darcy blinks. “Will you buy me stuff with his card?”

 

Steve leans over to his nightstand, grabs his wallet, and pulls out Bucky’s credit card to show her. “Uh, yeah.”

 

Darcy squints. “Is that… The famous black card?”

 

Steve looks at it, then realizes he hadn’t ever really looked at it. “Oh shit.”  

 

“That’s a fucking Amex black card!” Darcy hisses. “Fuck yeah, I’ll go shopping with you! You want me to pick you up? Your car’s still at your place.”

 

“Nah, I’ll pick you up,” Steve tells her. “Bucky’s given me a couple of suits to drive us around and stuff.”

 

“And stuff?” Darcy repeats suspiciously. “What kind of and stuff?”

 

Steve shrugs. “Look scary?”

 

“Oh my god,” Darcy whispers, “you have bodyguards.”

 

“Kinda?” Steve answers.

 

Darcy squeals. “You have bodyguards and a black card and you’re going to the Stark anniversary gala as James Barnes’ plus one! Holy shit, Stevie! What next?”

 

“I have a hot tub,” Steve said.

 

“Can we have a sleepover?” Darcy begs.

 

“Actually,” Steve says, thinking about it, and Darcy squeals again. “You could come over here on Friday morning to help me get ready for the thing? We could use the hot tub then.”

 

“I love you,” Darcy swears. “You are the best human being in the whole damn world, Steven Elizabeth Rogers, I love you to the moon and back.”

 

“Not my middle name,” Steve laughs.

 

“Shuddup and share your sugar daddy’s credit card with me, Steven Marie.”

 

Steve shakes his head as he pushes back the blankets. “I’ll call you when I’m headed your way. You wanna go to the mall in Brooklyn or Manhattan?”

 

“Fuck the mall, let’s go to Fifth Avenue!” Darcy says. “Tell your sugar daddy you’re gonna max out his card, Steve!”

 

“His limit’s three hundred grand, Darce,” Steve tells her. “I really doubt we could spend that much.”

 

Darcy gawks at him. She mouths _three hundred thousand dollars_ and collapses onto her bed.

 

“I gotta get dressed,” Steve says, “don’t die before I get there. Bye!”

 

He hangs up and tosses his phone onto the bed. Then the turns back and grabs it, opening his texts.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_So Darcy and me are gonna go to fifth avenue? How much did you say we could spend?_

 

Steve bites his lip, thinking a few grand wouldn’t stretch very far once Darcy got into Saks. Bucky starts typing, then stops, then starts again. Steve bites his lip a little harder, waiting.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_Whatever you want, just be home by six._

 

Steve gawks, too. Bucky did not just tell him to have at it.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_Really?_

_Really, dolly_

 

Steve presses a hand to his mouth, then sends Bucky a bunch of heart and kiss emojis before dropping his phone again. He cannot believe this man. Steve shakes his head as he heads into the bathroom. Darcy is so going to buy half of Saks.

 

He remembers that his stuff is actually still downstairs and puts on Bucky’s bathrobe so he’s not walking around naked before taking the stairs. He grabs his bags, brings them up, and drops them in the bedroom by the wardrobe to unpack later. He hasn’t even emptied his apartment yet. Whatever, that’s a problem for next week. He and Bucky have a normal date tonight and the gala Friday. Which reminds him, he should get new things for it, it’s only two days away.

 

Steve digs around until he finds an outfit he likes; dresses quickly in jeans and a loose tee shirt, puts flat black studs in his ears and an old piercing stud in his cartilage just to fill it up. He blow-dries the dampness and creases out of his hair and puts on his Chucks. He knows Darcy will rag on him about buying new ones, since these have been in business longer than he has and they’re falling apart, but he likes his beat up Allstars. They’re the last thing his mom bought for him before the drugs and the chemo messed up her head.

 

Steve grabs a jacket, puts his wallet and keys in his pockets, then slips his phone into his back pocket. He stops at the bedroom door, feeling like he’s missing something.

 

He looks around, turning on the spot. A flash of silver catches his eye on the bed. Steve darts back over and picks up the signet ring lost amongst the sheets.

 

A quick root around in his suitcase gets him a long chain and he strings the ring on it. Steve lets it hang over his shirt, lying over a Nirvana smiley face, and heads for the elevator.

 

He checks Bucky’s list again while he waits.

 

 

  * __Something silky or lacey to sleep in. Maybe more than one.__


  * _Some better quality lace panties. You know I like you in blue._


  * _Diamond earrings are a girl’s best friend, dolly._


  * _I liked those thigh highs, but get you some better ones._


  * _Spend at least $500 in Sephora or wherever you buy your makeup._



 

 

Steve can easily spend $500 in Sephora with their prices. He just isn’t sure there is one on Fifth Avenue.

 

The elevator opens. Steve glances up and steps inside, then thinks he ought to ask Bucky where his suits are. Didn’t he say he was going to send Luke or Hunter with him?

 

“What floor, sir?” the operator asks in a polite tone.

 

“Oh, uh, the garage?” Steve says. The operator nods once and presses the button. Steve wonders how much he gets paid just to stand in an elevator and push buttons all day.

 

He texts Bucky about the bodyguards. They reach the garage before Bucky answers and it’s made redundant, given that Luke _and_ Hunter are waiting outside the doors.

 

“Mr. Rogers,” Luke greets.

 

“Call me Steve,” Steve says, wrinkling his nose. “You see me wearing cardigans? No.”

 

Luke nearly cracks a smile. Hunter looks mildly confused. Steve shoots Bucky another text to tell him he found the suits and puts his phone in his pocket.

 

“Uh, we gotta pick up my friend from Brooklyn,” he says.

 

“Mr. Barnes did say you were bringing a guest,” Luke answers. “If I could have the address?”

 

“Yeah, hang on,” Steve says, pulling out his phone again. He recites Darcy’s address as they start walking to the car. Luke stops by the limo.

 

“Uh,” Steve says. “Could we maybe take a less conspicuous car?”

 

Luke shrugs. “You’re the boss,” he replies. “The Mercedes?”

 

“Sure,” Steve says. Everyone on Fifth Avenue drives a Mercedes. His phone buzzes and a glance at it tells him he’s got a text from Bucky. Luke shuffles his keys and unlocks the regular Mercedes as opposed to the stretch and Hunter opens the rear passenger door on his way to the front seat. He doesn’t stop to help Steve in and Steve’s glad for that; he’ll only take that shit from Bucky.

 

He gets in and shuts his door, does his seatbelt, and checks his texts.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_Both Cage and Hunter should be there._

_Yeah, they’re both here. Is Hunter not Hunter’s first name?_

_No._

_What is it then?_

 

Steve waits, tapping a finger against his thigh. He needs to get his nails done before the gala on Friday.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_I don’t know._

 

Steve gives a snort. He leans forward onto the divider between the front and back seats and props his chin on his cross forearms to look at his bodyguards for the day.

 

“What’s your first name, Hunter?” he asks.

 

Luke, for some reason, snorts. Hunter stiffens and shoots him a sideways glare, then turns to look at Steve.

 

“It’s Lance,” he says.

 

“No, it ain’t!” Luke laughs.

 

“It is now!” Lance counters. “I had it legally changed!”

 

“His momma named him Amadeus,” Luke says.

 

Lance hits him in the shoulder with the back of his hand. “And I legally changed it to Lance, so shut up!”

 

“Why’d you pick Lance?” Steve says. “If you were changing it anyway, why didn’t you go with something cool?”

 

Luke laughs again. Lance scowls.

 

“I like Lance,” he mutters, turning around.

 

“It’s alright,” Steve says, sniggering. “I would’ve picked something less Knights of the Round Table, though.”

 

Lance lets out a gruff breath. Steve, shaking his head, pulls back to rest against the bench and picks up his phone again.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_His first name is Lance Bucky. You should talk to your employees more_

_I don’t pay them to be chatty, Steve._

 

Steve sniggers again and opens the camera. He sticks out his tongue and snaps the selfie, then sends it to Bucky. He leans his temple against the window while he waits for Bucky to answer, a smirk curling his lip.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_Brat._

 

Steve grins to himself, feeling accomplished.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_You gonna punish me, Daddy?_

_I’m considering it._

 

Steve chuckles and sends him a kiss emoji, then swipes out of the conversation and sees a text from Darcy that he hasn’t yet read. He opens that instead, seeing the screenshot of Bucky’s list just above her five messages.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_OMG_

_What the fuck even is ur life????_

_500 bucks at Sephora alonr???_

_*alone_

_Can you share ur sugar Daddy_

_Nope. Omw btw_

 

Steve sees the typing bubble and waits.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_Fuck u Rogers_

 

Steve smiles to himself and exits his messages. He opens Instagram and settles in to scroll endlessly until they reach Darcy’s apartment complex in Bushwick.

 

He sees some things he likes in the ads and such and starts to get a picture in his head of what he should buy. He needs a bathrobe, that’s for sure. Bucky’s is nice and warm and all but Steve kept stepping on the hem this morning. And maybe slippers. And maybe he could take up yoga again. He could get proper yoga clothes instead of wearing sweats to do it.

 

They’re nearing Darcy’s block when she texts him again.

 

_Hey so don’t be mad but Rollins wants to talk to you_

 

Steve squints suspiciously.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_Why does Rollins want to talk to me? Today? Is he there?_

_Yeah it was weird he just showed up and said he needed to talk to you_

_What the fuck?_

_Ikr!! I think he tapped my phone or some shit_

 

Steve scowls and switches off his phone just as Luke pulls up at the curb. “You guys need to stay in the car,” he says, releasing his seatbelt. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

“Mr. Barnes said we had to accompany you –” Lance starts to say but Steve cuts him off.

 

“Well, don’t tell him,” he says simply. “Darcy’s not dressed yet, so you can’t come. Wait here.”

 

Steve gets out of the car and slams the door. Neither of the suits try to follow him. Steve lets out a sharp breath, then makes his way up the front steps.

 

The elevator in Darcy’s building is still out of order, so Steve goes up the stairs. She’s on the third floor and it’s not long before he’s knocking on her door. Darcy opens it, wearing an overlarge hoodie and jeans, to raise her eyebrows at him and step aside to let him in.

 

Rollins is sitting on her couch, tapping his fingers on the arm of it. Steve crosses his arms and stands to face him.

 

“Where’ve you been, Rogers?” Rollins starts.

 

“I was sick,” Steve lies. “You wanted to talk to me?”

 

“Yeah,” Rollins answers.

 

He stands up and pulls a pistol out from under his jacket. Neither Darcy nor Steve move. Rollins checks the gun’s cartridge, then the chamber, and flips it in his hand.

 

“Time’s come to pay off your debt.”

 

He holds the gun out to Steve. Steve doesn’t move to take it.

 

“I know you were staying at Barnes’s place,” Rollins says. “You’ve cleaned out your apartment, too. Barnes must trust you.”

 

Steve looks at the gun, then at Rollins. “Your point?”

 

“Kill ‘im in his sleep,” Rollins says sharply.

 

Darcy gasps quietly but Steve doesn’t move. He looks at the gun, then at Rollin’s raised eyebrows.

 

“Kill him and your debt is paid,” Rollins says.

 

Steve looks at the gun one more time, thinking fast. Rollins raises his eyebrows further at him, and Steve is sure that this time, he really can’t say no.

 

So he takes the gun. Darcy grabs his arm, but Steve ignores her. Rollins gives him a cruel smile.

 

“Smart kid,” he says. “Call me when it’s done and I’ll send somebody to pick you up.”

 

Steve nods. He puts the gun in the waistband of his jeans, hiding its bulge with the bagginess of his shirt. Rollins zips up his jacket and leaves the apartment, shutting the door gently on his way out. Darcy yanks on Steve’s arm.

 

“What the fuck, Steve!” she hisses.

 

Steve slaps a hand over her mouth, then carefully presses one finger to his lips. Darcy blinks, startled. Steve lowers the finger, then reaches to his phone and unlocks the screen. He removes his hand from her mouth and points to her last text.

 

_I think he tapped my phone or some shit._

 

Slowly, Darcy nods. Steve puts away his phone.

 

“Let’s go,” he says. “Get your stuff.”

 

Darcy nods again. “Right,” she mutters. “Stuff.”

 

She tugs off the hoodie she’s wearing, leaving her in just a bra, and Steve drops onto the couch, feeling floored. He takes the gun back out, then shakes his head and pushes it into an inner pocket of his jacket. He waits for Darcy to finish getting dressed and grab her purse, then takes her hand and pulls her out of the apartment. Steve bounces on his feet while she locks her door, then grabs her hand again and nearly tugs her out of the building.

 

“What the fuck, Steve!” Darcy gasps as they burst into the street.

 

“That’s our car,” Steve says, pointing. “I have to call Bucky.”

 

“What the fuck!” Darcy hisses a third time. Steve pushes her into the car, then tugs the gun out and taps on the partition.

 

“Can you take this?” he asks Lance when it lowers, holding out the gun.

 

“Uh,” Lance says, “yes? Where did it come from?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says, taking out his phone now.

 

Darcy is sitting on the bench next to him, gawking. He opens his contacts and scrolls to Bucky’s number, dialing immediately. He presses the phone to his ear and waits.

 

“Go ahead and head for Fifth Avenue,” Steve adds to Luke while it rings. “We shouldn’t linger.”

 

“Whatever you say, boss,” Luke says.

 

The call clicks. Steve drops his gaze and covers his other ear with a hand.

 

 _“What is it?”_ Bucky’s voice answers sharply.

 

“It’s Steve,” Steve says hesitantly. Maybe Bucky didn’t check caller ID before he answered?

 

 _“Oh,”_ Bucky says then. Didn’t check the caller. Old man. _“What’s up, dragă?”_

 

“Rollins asked me to kill you,” Steve tells him bluntly.

 

Darcy’s jaw drops further. In the front seat, Luke glances in the rearview mirror and Lance looks at the gun Steve gave him with an expression of mild horror.

 

 _“Really?”_ Bucky replies, sounding totally calm and only mildly intrigued. Completely unruffled by the fact that Steve just admitted that his pimp had asked him to kill Bucky. _“When did this happen?”_ Bucky asks, like Steve just said Rollins asked if they could catch up sometime soon.

 

“Just now,” Steve says, feeling unsettled by Bucky’s calm attitude. “When I went to pick up Darcy, he showed up to wait for me. He gave me a gun but I gave it to Lance. Hunter, I mean.”

 

 _“Well then,”_ Bucky says. _“I’m in the middle of a meeting but I’ll take care of it. You and your friend enjoy your day, alright?”_

 

“Okay,” Steve says, a little lost. That was it? He tells Bucky that someone was plotting to kill him, through Steve no less, and that’s it? “You won’t be mad at me, right?”

 

 _“No, ‘course not, honey,”_ Bucky says. _“You did the right thing, telling me right away like that. Thank you.”_

 

“No problem,” Steve says slowly. “Okay then.”

 

_“I’ll see you tonight, six o’clock, don’t forget.”_

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve says without thinking about who was listening. He makes a face when he realizes, but doesn’t take it back. “Bye.”

 

_“Ciao, dragă mea.”_

 

Steve drops the phone and hangs up. Darcy grabs his arm.

 

“What the fuck!” she screeches.

 

“Volume!” Steve admonishes her.

 

“What the hell was that?” Darcy demands. “Rollins is going to kill you!”

 

“Bucky’s cleaning out Brass Fang,” Steve says, “Rollins will have bigger things to worry about than me.”

 

Darcy raises her eyebrows. “Your sugar daddy is taking Fang out?” she says quietly, then shakes herself. “What the fuck, Steve?”

 

“Bucky promised that you and the other girls won’t get arrested,” Steve defends, “and you’ll get new jobs, real ones at the company.”

 

“What the fuck?” Darcy hisses.

 

“What am I doing with this?” Lance asks, holding up Rollins’s gun.

 

“Something, I don’t know,” Steve snaps. “Luke, would you mind putting up the partition?”

 

Luke just lifts it. With the backseat insulated and their bodyguards unable to hear them, Steve lets out a deep breath.

 

“Bucky got mad because I told him Garrett hired me when I was underage,” Steve says. “He was pissed enough that Fang sold to kids, but when he found out Fang hired them, he said he was gonna take them off the streets.”

 

Darcy just looks at him for a second. Steve hadn’t told her before that he started working for Fang before he turned eighteen. He just shrugs once.

 

“What about our friends?” Darcy asks quietly. “There’s good people at Fang.”

 

“They’ll be moved,” Steve says. “Bucky will probably put his people in charge of Fang’s assets, redistribute things. I mean, Black Panther will be mad, but Bucky can deal with them.”

 

“And you?” Darcy demands. “Is that why you’re going to live with Barnes? Because he bought you?”

 

“He didn’t buy me!” Steve snaps. “My landlord tried to make me suck his dick ‘cause I was late with the rent and Bucky saved me!”

 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Darcy mutters.

 

Steve drops his gaze. “I didn’t want to upset you. Slattery’s dead now, anyway.”

 

“Barnes?” Darcy asks hesitantly.

 

Steve nods, then shrugs again. “He didn’t even know what was happening. He came up to my apartment to get me, Slattery was already there. I just screamed and Bucky kicked the door down.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Darcy whispers.

 

“My apartment got broken into Saturday night,” Steve goes on. “And then my debt to Fang, it’s not really a debt, Garrett legally owned me and Rollins has the papers. Bucky’s making it all go away.”

 

Darcy looks at him for a long time. Steve drops his gaze to his hands in his lap.

 

“He might honestly be the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says. “When I told you he came looking for me, I didn’t know how much he actually meant that. He saw me working over a year ago and spent all that time trying to track me down.”

 

“Oh, my god,” Darcy exhales.

 

“This is serious, Darce,” Steve tells her. “We’re actually trying to be serious. I’m actually his partner.”

 

Darcy’s quiet for a second. Then she pulls him into a hug and squeezes her arms tight. Steve lets his head fall onto her shoulder and squeezes her back just as tightly.

 

“I’m sorry any of that shit happened to you,” Darcy says. “And I’m glad that you and – and Barnes are really trying to work it out like a real couple. I’m sorry I got mad at you.”

 

“It’s okay,” Steve says. Darcy huffs. “No, really it is I should have told you all of this earlier, all of it. I promise you’re not gonna get fucked over when Bucky has his revenge.”

 

“You gonna get me a job at Seyrbakov Corp.?” Darcy sniffs.

 

“Hell yeah,” Steve tells her. He pulls back. “Shit, you could go back to school, too. We could get our GED’s together.”

 

“Yeah, maybe we could,” Darcy says, stricken with emotion. “God, I never thought I’d actually go back to school.”

 

“Me neither,” Steve assures her. “Darcy, I’m gonna go to NYU and study art.”

 

“Really?” she gasps, then throws her arms around Steve again to hug him. “That’s amazing!”

 

“Y’know what else?” Steve says. “Bucky’s fucking putting me on his health insurance, so I can get my scoliosis looked at. He fucking cares about my scoliosis.”

 

“Alright,” Darcy laughs, “I get your point.”

 

“He’s ridiculously sweet,” Steve goes on. “He calls me a thousand pet names, he’s sarcastic and goofy, he –”

 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Darcy laughs again. “Barnes hung the moon for you.”

 

“Darcy, he’s amazing,” Steve sings.

 

“I get it!” Darcy laughs. She hugs him again tightly and holds onto his shoulders when he lets go. “You know I only want the best for you, and you do seem happier lately. It’s a good look on you.”

 

Steve smiles, bashful for once in his life, and ducks his head. Darcy reaches up and ruffles his hair, grinning; Steve protests and bats her hand away.

 

“You asshole,” he says, “I spent a whole five minutes on my hair!”

 

“You did not,” Darcy accuses. “You didn’t even wash it.”

 

“No, you’re right, I didn’t,” Steve answers. Then grins. “Bucky did.”

 

“Oh, my god,” Darcy inhales. “He fucking washes _your_ hair _for you!_ That’s so fucking cute!”

 

“It’s part of our aftercare,” Steve says. “He fusses and does everything for me and, like, bundles me up in a towel, it’s really sweet.”

 

“That’s fucking cute,” Darcy whispers.

 

“He’ll undress and dress me,” Steve says with a dopey grin. He flops sideways and lands on her shoulder to clasp his hands under his chin and bat his lashes like a fucking lovesick fool. “And it’s mandatory that we cuddle while his knot goes down if he fucked me, or for, like, twenty minutes at least even if he didn’t knot me, and last night I made a joke about him being a caveman because he didn’t know what Netflix and chill meant so he tackled me on the couch and acted like a caveman for a minute, like _Rah, me want my Omega,_ and it was so fucking sweet, Darcy!”

 

“OMG, he actually called you _his_ Omega?” Darcy gasps.

 

Steve nods, grinning still.

 

“You’re impossible,” she tells him. “You’ve known him for, what, a month? And you’re already _this_ disgustingly cute? I call bullshit.”

 

“Call it,” Steve says, lifting off her shoulder and snapping his fingers at her. “I’d make you buy lunch ‘cause you’d lose but I’m the one with the black card.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Darcy says, “here’s the clincher: How is the sex?”

 

Steve grins wider and nods. Darcy drops her mouth open. She grabs his shoulder and shakes him and Steve – like a fucking lovesick _schoolgirl_ – laughs and nods several times.

 

“Okay,” Darcy starts over, “okay, okay, okay. On a scale of one to Thor Odinson, how good is he?”

 

“Fucking better,” Steve swears. Darcy squeals and shakes his arm. “No, look, listen! I like sucking dick, right?”

 

“Yeah, no shit,” Darcy snorts.

 

“Bucky makes me want to choke on his dick 24/7,” Steve insists, “and not even give a shit about myself. This morning, I blew him after breakfast, but before we started, before –!” Steve grabs Darcy’s arm in turn and shakes her instead “– he asked me to jerk off so he could _watch,_  and told me that once _I_ came, I'd get him to come!”

 

“Holy shit,” Darcy murmurs.

 

“And you know what I wanted?” Steve demands. He doesn’t even wait for her to guess – “I just wanted _him_ to come, I didn’t even care about _me,_ I just wanted him to nut in my mouth and to fucking give it to me right that second!”

 

“Bitch, you are a selfish whore!” Darcy gasps. “You’re serious?”

 

“Uh, for Bucky, yeah,” Steve says smugly. “I have a collar, Darce.”

 

Darcy gawks. Steve holds up two fingers – “I have two collars, I’ve got a collar for when I’m his little slut, and one for when I’m his babydoll.”

 

“Oh, my, god, _babydoll?_ ” Darcy hisses.

 

Steve nods happily. “He’ll like, shower me with praise and spend all his time devoted on me and you know I love a good, hard fucking, but when he gets gentle, it’s like I only ever existed for him to adore me.”

 

Darcy lets out a sharp, shrieking gasp.

 

Somebody knocks on the partition before Steve can keep talking or she can say anything.

 

“You okay back there?” Lance’s muffled voice comes across.

 

Darcy claps her hands over her mouth. Steve snorts, then leans forward and yells back: “Fine!”

 

“Alright then,” Lance answers, his voice barely audible at that point. Steve looks back at Darcy and they burst into hushed laughter.

 

“It’s bulletproof, not soundproof,” he says, pointing to the partition. “So if you’re gonna impersonate a pterodactyl –”

 

“Rude,” Darcy interrupts.

 

“The point!” Steve sighs. “They can hear us, somewhat.”

 

“I didn’t realize the thing was anything-proof,” Darcy admits. “I thought you were just fine talking about your sex life in front of your Alpha’s employees.”

 

Steve snorts ungracefully and falls back on the bench to clutch at his mouth and laugh behind his hands. Darcy looks on smugly while Steve laughs too hard at something that was hardly even funny.

 

“No!” Steve wheezed. “No, no, they couldn’t hear all that!”

 

“Alright, well, how do I know you’re not an exhibitionist?” Darcy asks.

 

Steve, still wheezing slightly, sits up and wipes a tear from his eye. “I am,” he says, “but I didn’t get permission from Bucky to be one right now, so –”

 

Darcy laughs again and snatches his hand to shake it. Steve burst into laughter anew and leans on her shoulder, fairly overwhelmed.

 

“Darcy, Darcy,” Steve rasps, catching her shoulder and shaking it, “I swear – I _swear_ – I think I might fall in love.”

 

Darcy’s laughter cuts off in a gasp. She grabs his arm in return. “No,” she whispers. Steve nods, suddenly sober. “You’re serious?”

 

“I mean,” Steve starts, then pauses to inhale and think. “I don’t know? I’ve never been in love but  – Bucky makes me feel like it would be easy, and he –”

 

Steve breaks off, biting his lip. He drops his gaze and shrugs, a smile forming. “I think he’d return it.”

 

Darcy squeals and hugs him. Steve grins and pats her shoulder with a limp hand while she squeezes his arms to his body.

 

“My little boy’s growing up!” she cries.

 

“I’m literally older than you,” Steve says, “you bitch.”

 

“But my baby,” Darcy whispers.

 

“I’m three weeks older than you,” Steve answers.

 

“This means nothing,” Darcy insists and hugs him tighter.

 

Steve groans but lets her. “Do you want me to tell you about the night he spanked me or no?”

 

Darcy lets go with another dramatic gasp. “You got into spanking!”

 

Steve grins and nods. “I flirted with the waiter at dinner.”

 

“You sly bitch!” Darcy answers proudly, smacking him in the arm. “So, what, Daddy took a belt to you?”

 

“No, I only call him Daddy when I’m being a brat,” Steve says easily. “He just bent me over and slapped the shit out of my ass. He made me count.”

 

“You kinky little shit,” Darcy says, grinning. “Then what?”

 

“Fucked me good and hard,” Steve says, grinning back. “I blacked out.”

 

“Oooh,” Darcy says, “honey, that’s the good shit.”

 

“Hell yeah,” Steve laughs. “He knows what he’s doing, and he’s doing an A-plus job.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Darcy interrupts, “but have you told him you’re into age play?”

 

Steve thinks back and feels heat color his ears. “Uh,” he says. “Not yet?”

 

Darcy gives him a look. “You’re having A plus sex now, but why aren’t you telling him you wanna be a naughty schoolboy and get caned with a ruler?”

 

“It hasn’t come up yet,” Steve says defensively.

 

“It’s because you don’t wanna admit you act your age,” Darcy says flatly.

 

“I’m twenty-three!” Steve insists.

 

“You wanna be treated like a twenty-three-year-old child!” Darcy insists.

 

“You’re twenty-three, too!” Steve counters.

 

Darcy sniggers. “Yeah, and I wanna be the one wielding the ruler. Your point?”

 

Steve looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “You never said you’d beat me with a ruler.”

 

“You never asked!” Darcy answers. “You should tell your sugar daddy to beat you with a ruler.”

 

“He would,” Steve says, looking away and sighing wistfully. “It’d be fucking amazing.”

 

“I hear a but,” Darcy says.

 

Steve shrugs. “We agreed to stick to gentle stuff until I see my therapist.”

 

“When are you going to see your therapist?” Darcy asks.

 

“On Monday,” Steve says with a shrug. “I, uh, had a bad morning earlier this week, y’know?”

 

Darcy nods. “I get it,” she says, “honestly, given what happened to you this weekend…”

 

She trails off, looking guilty.

 

“If you’d crashed at my place, it wouldn’t have happened,” she says quietly.

 

“Aw, no, Darcy,” Steve starts, “it didn’t even actually happen, it only almost happened –”

 

“That’s just as bad!” Darcy insists. “Near-death experiences are just as traumatizing as death!”

 

“Well, when you’re dead,” Steve says and Darcy shakes her head. He starts over. “Yeah, it sucked, but I just wanna move on. I don’t have to confront it until Monday.”

 

Darcy gives him a look.

 

“Okay, I confronted it a little already,” Steve says, then sighs again. “We talked, me and Bucky, after it happened – ‘Cause he did bust down my door and found me sprawled on the floor and some rando with his belt undone standing over me, we did talk. After he killed my landlord.”

 

“I can’t get over the fact that you just happened to witness a murder this weekend,” Darcy mutters.

 

“Considering what happened to lead to that,” Steve says, “I feel like he deserved it.”

 

Darcy gives a shrug. “I didn’t say he didn’t, I’m just astonished you’re taking it so calmly.”

 

“We both watched Bucky point blank shoot Rumlow between the eyes a few weeks ago,” Steve says. Darcy shrugs again.

 

“Still,” she says.

 

“Anyway,” Steve goes on, “we talked, it’s why we decided to slow down on harder play because he’s worried it might worsen my pre-existing trauma or whatever.”

 

Steve shrugs, too. “I think I’d be okay, considering we’d been doing it the entire time and the bad morning – Okay, so it was after the night he spanked me, I went into subspace, y’know?”

 

Darcy gives a nod, waiting for him to finish.

 

“And it was fine, he was sweet and gentle after,” Steve goes on, “but he went to work in the morning and I didn’t really wake up enough for a goodbye or whatever. So I… dropped.”

 

“You have serious abandonment issues, Steve,” Darcy reminds him.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says. “And I’m gonna… Gonna talk to him about my ma and all, I already said a couple of things but he hasn’t pushed it. But he’s worried about – Other stuff, stuff that happened to me while I was in the foster system –”

 

Darcy’s eyes are getting bigger and her brows are drawing tighter together. Steve looks at the floor and tries to think of what to tell her other than the truth.

 

But… He should. He trusts Darcy, more than anyone he thought. And, honestly, he’s not ready to trust Bucky more than he trusts Darcy.

 

“I got stuck in a house with a pervert, y’know?” he says. “It was the house before Garrett adopted me, the reason I was so eager to join Brass Fang. ‘Cause my foster father was a creep. I told Bucky and he’s just concerned that something he’ll do will trigger… I don’t know, something.”

 

“That’s real wise of him,” Darcy answers gently. “It’s a good sign.”

 

Steve nods. Darcy picks up his hand.

 

“Hey,” she murmurs. “Thank you for telling me that. I know it’s hard to do, but opening up is a step towards healing.”

 

Steve can’t meet her gaze, but he nods. “Anyway,” he says, trying to brighten, “I’ll tell Bucky, that I like role play. He won’t beat me with a ruler anytime soon, but he might do something with me.”

 

“I’m sure,” Darcy murmurs. “If – If you’re sure?”

 

“I am,” Steve answers. He nods, feeling confident. “Bucky’s the best thing to happen to me in a long time. I’m positive about that.”

 

“Like I said, you seem happier,” Darcy says.

 

“I am,” Steve insists. “We even tried that hand-feeding thing this morning, it went really well and I honestly can’t think of a moment I wasn’t basking in all the praise he was giving me. Literally, Darcy, he wouldn’t shut up.”

 

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Isn’t that the point of a praise kink?”

 

“I mean,” Steve starts, then breaks off to laugh. “Yeah, it is. But that wasn’t my point. Bucky’s good for me.”

 

Darcy bites her lip but nods. “You’ll keep me in the loop, right?” she asks, sounding worried again. “And tell me how it goes with your therapist?”

 

Steve nods. “If it makes you feel better, Bucky already said that if us being together was hurting me more, he’d let me go and put me through school anyway.”

 

“Let you go where?” Darcy asks, frowning.

 

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know, I didn’t want to think about that too much. Somewhere away from him, I guess.”

 

Darcy raises her eyebrows and lets out a long breath. “Well, if he’s man enough to offer that –”

 

“He is,” Steve insists.

 

“Don’t go getting bonded anytime soon, now,” Darcy adds, “dick or no dick.”

 

“Oh, god, no,” Steve answers hastily, “I don’t wanna think about _that_ either, I’m not that attached to his dick.”

 

“Good,” Darcy says. “As long as you’re being safe and you feel comfortable.”

 

“I am,” he assures her. “I’ve got three layers of safe words, Darce.”

 

She raises her eyebrows. “Really? Three layers?”

 

“Yes,” Steve says happily. He ticks them off on his fingers. “I’ve got a full-stop word, I’ve got an I need a breather or a check-in word, I’ve got hand signals for _yes, no,_ and _stop._ Oh, and we’ve got numbers, he asks what my number is and if it’s anything more than a two, we take a break and he spends ten minutes telling me how much I mean to him.”

 

“How much do you mean to him?” Darcy asks suspiciously.

 

Steve grins stupidly. “He trusts me, Darce. Rollins wasn’t kidding, Bucky doesn’t trust _anyone._ But he trusts me. He let me sleep in his bed the first night I was with him, and he hadn’t let anybody stay overnight with him in years. He says that means everything to him.”

 

“You mean everything to him?” Darcy asks.

 

“I do,” Steve tells her. “And, honestly, he means everything to me. I trust him, too.”

 

“Okay,” she says. “You’re a smart kid and I believe you.”

 

“I’m three weeks older than you,” Steve reminds her with a roll of his eyes.

 

Darcy shrugs. “Details,” she says.

 

Steve rolls his eyes again. “Whatever,” he says. “I’ve talked about Bucky enough, is there anything new with you?”

 

“Well,” Darcy says, lifting her eyebrows. “apparently, I’m going back to school and to work for the Seyrbakov family.”

 

“I knew that,” Steve says, hitting her playfully on the arm.

 

Darcy rubs the spot like it’s sore and shrugs, smiling. “You know me,” she said, “I’d tell you anything the second it happened.”

 

Steve nods, knowing she was speaking the truth and also feeling guilty that he hadn’t told her all about these developments with Bucky sooner.

 

“Well, what about that list?” Darcy says. “Do you know what you’re getting?”

 

“Uh,” Steve answers, pulling up his phone and his text conversation with Bucky. Darcy leans over his shoulder, then bursts out laughing.

 

“His contact is called sir!” she wheezes. “I’m dead.”

 

“Mine in his phone is called baby boy,” Steve says proudly.

 

“I’m deceased,” Darcy swears. “No shit?”

 

Steve nods. “No shit. I fucking love it when he calls me that.”

 

“Kinky little bitch,” Darcy laughs, then ruffles his hair again. “Okay, so, you’re getting lacey shit for him to rip off you.”

 

“I’m getting a whole fucking outfit,” Steve says, looking at the list. “Lingerie, diamonds, makeup.”

 

“Ooh, you should get one of those sheer robes with the fur,” Darcy says.

 

“Boots with the fur,” Steve answers.

 

“The fur!” Darcy laughs.

 

“I do need a robe,” Steve adds. “I’ve been using his, it’s, like, massive on me, he’s almost a foot taller than me.”

 

“Goals,” Darcy sighs. “Okay, so, a sheer robe, and like, I’m thinking teddies.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Steve agrees.

 

“Garter belts to go with the thigh highs,” Darcy continues. “And some heels, because this is a look and you need them.”

 

“I’m going with your judgment on this,” Steve says.

 

“Oh, trust me,” Darcy agrees. “You still wear those nasty Chuck Taylors, I’ll pick out the outfit to wow  your sugar daddy.”

 

“Fine,” Steve sighs. “But there’s nothing wrong with my Chucks.”

 

“Uh, you can be wrong,” Darcy says. “Anyway, here’s the plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i hope you enjoyed the heartfelt chatting with darcy. leave me a comment if you liked this bc you know baby loves comments. that sounded weird. whatever. check out chaos's art from[chapter one](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179382932886/barnes-leaves-his-hand-where-its-barely-touching) and [chapter eight](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179487629801/steve-realizes-that-hes-shivering-bucky-finally). i'll see you later tonight, with **… as we forgive our debtors**. ttyl_
> 
>  
> 
>  **Ciao, propria mea** = _Bye, my own_  
>  **Fi un ou bun, să ai grijă de papusa mea** = _Be a good egg, take care of my doll_  
>  **Ciao, amant** = _Bye, lover_  
>  **Ai grijă de fundul meu!** = _Take care of my ass!_  
>  **Ciao, dragă mea** = _Bye, my darling_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	19. … as we forgive our debtors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _last chapter of today! there's more fluff and honesty in our future as well as some noice smut. don't judge me for using noice i am still binging brooklyn 99._

##  _… as we forgive our debtors_

 

They arrived at Fifth Avenue around 11. With Luke and Lance in tow, Darcy and Steve hit every mark on Bucky’s list and then some, and were done around four o’clock. Steve lost track of how much they had spent some time around two.

 

With the plan that Darcy would drive over Friday morning to help Steve get ready for the gala, Steve dropped her off at her apartment shortly before five and headed back into Manhattan. Bucky had instructed him to be home by six, and Steve steps off the elevator at five fifty-three.

 

Bucky isn’t back yet, so Steve hasn’t to put away his shopping. He didn’t have a dresser or even a drawer yet, though, so most of it stayed in the bags in the corner. Most of it.

 

Steve lays down on their bed, phone in hand, to wait for Bucky to get back. Darcy had put together an entire look for him, and, at least to him, Steve thinks he looks pretty damn delectable.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_You gonna be home soon?_

 

Steve flips onto his stomach and lifts his feet into the air, crossing them at the ankle and propping his head up on a palm to look at his phone.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_Stuck in traffic. ETA 30._

 

Steve scowls down at his phone. He rolls onto his side and let his thumb hover, indecisive, over the button to call Bucky. Then he switches to FaceTime and dials him anyway.

 

Steve tucks an arm under his head while he waits for Bucky to pick up. He covers a yawn with a manicured hand, then adjusts his grip on his phone and uses the camera to fluff up his hair in the front.

 

Bucky answers. Steve flips back onto his stomach and pouts at him.

 

“Don’t give me that look,” Bucky says immediately. “I told you I’d be home around 6:30.”

 

“I’ll pout if I want to,” Steve argues. “It’s 6:15, I’m wearing that new stuff you told me to get and you’re not here to appreciate it.”

 

Bucky lifts a brow, his lip curling. “You max out my card, babydoll?” he asks.

 

“No,” Steve scoffs. “I told you I couldn’t spend anywhere near three hundred grand.”

 

“What’d you get?” Bucky presses, chuckling.

 

Steve lifts up onto his elbows and angles the phone to let the camera see past his shoulder. “A few things,” he remarks.

 

“What’s the point of buying a bathrobe if you can see through it?” Bucky asks in an amused tone.

 

Steve smirks, fingering the hem of his lace dressing gown. It’s a pale champagne pink, the lace floral and wide in weave so his skin peaks through and what he’s wearing under it is partially visible.

 

“The point is that _you_ can see through it,” Steve answers. “I think I got one of everything in Saks’ lingerie section.”

 

“Did you now?” Bucky asks softly. “You gonna do a fashion show for me, baby?”

 

“If you’d like,” Steve says.

 

“What are you waiting for, then?” Bucky asks. “Show me what you’re wearing, doll.”

 

Steve grins and shifts onto his back, holding up the phone at arm's length. He touches the lapel of his dressing gown, then pulls it down a little. “But you’re still in the car,” he says, playing dumb. “Don’t you wanna touch as well as look?”

 

“You’ll just have to touch for me,” Bucky tells him. “Go on, then.”

 

Steve lifts his hand from the lapel and takes up the sash. “You wanna see?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky answers, his voice gone to that dripping chocolate tone Steve loved so much. “Show me what you’re wearing, dolly.”

 

Steve pulls a little on the sash. “I can show you this, but I wanna show you everything else later. Is that okay?”

 

“Fine,” Bucky says. “C’mon, lemme see, baby.”

 

Steve gives another tug. “I dunno if the phone’ll show you all the details. The patterns in the lace are just beautiful.”

 

“I’ll have to see,” Bucky answers. “Stop teasing me, doll, or I’ll have to spank you when I get home.”

 

“Empty threats,” Steve accuses. “I’d enjoy it too much.”

 

“You’re right, you would,” Bucky sighs. “Guess I’d just have to edge you instead.”

 

Steve sticks out his bottom lip. “But you’re already gonna be late!” he whines.

 

“Which means I’m already impatient,” Bucky says, flicking up his eyebrows and smiling too much for Steve to worry that Bucky’s legitimately upset. “Show me what you’re wearing, Stevie.”

 

Steve flips onto his side and pulls loose the sash of his dressing gown. “You said you wanted me in blue,” he starts as he pushes one shoulder of the dressing gown off. “I got a lot of blue, lacy things.”

 

“Well, aren’t you a thoughtful boy?” Bucky chuckles. “So eager to please, hmm?”

 

Steve feels a little heat rising to his cheeks but smiles. “Yes, sir,” he murmurs.

 

“Let’s see these lacy things,” Bucky asks him. “Go back on your back.”

 

Steve puts his phone in his other hand, then rolls back onto his back and lets his free hand fall to the bed. The dressing gown falls open and Steve holds the phone as far away as he can so Bucky can see everything.

 

And Bucky whistles. Steve feels the blush rising higher up his cheeks despite himself.

 

Firstly, he’s wearing an unlined bralette that’s laced together in the front like a corset. The lace is, as Steve said, truly beautiful; it’s stitched to appear like roses, the flowers standing out starkly against the background of the sheer netting that makes up the base of the fabric. There are six straps that fasten to the hem of the bralette on each side, connecting at rings over Steve’s shoulders before going back and, though Bucky can’t see it at this angle, weave together between his shoulder blades to attach to the band going around his ribs. The lace flutters in a wave over his ribcage, the roses in the pattern blooming to fill out the item. Over his chest, there are two larger blooms strategically placed over his nipples, but Steve is confident Bucky can see the points under the lace where they’re hardened.

 

Around his waist, Steve wears a silk and lace garter belt. The waistband and lining is bright blue silk, smooth and cool against his skin, and two layers of silk with lace paneling drape over his stomach and hips, cut to expose his navel and rest over his hips. The lace matches the pattern of the bralette, and, sewn to the silk, four belts run down to attach to the tops of his thigh highs. The upper bands of them are the same rose patterned lace, but the rest is a sheer blue fabric that makes his skin look a creamy peach under it where it’s stretched and a deeper blue where the shadows are.

 

Finally, Steve is wearing panties. Now that he’s worn panties from top shelf fashion labels, Steve is positive he’ll never buy from Target ever again. The panties he’s showing off to Bucky now are still the same rose-patterned lace, and nothing but lace. The pattern is denser than in his bralette, and it’s times like these that Steve is thankful he’s not as well-endowed because the panties are snug and allow little room. As it is, he has to be careful moving around to make sure he stays seated in them.

 

To top it off, Steve had gotten his makeup done at Sephora and his lipstick is a bright, shiny red. He’d bought diamond earrings like Bucky told him to, and they glint in the light coming from the windows. He and Darcy had gotten their nails done, so his fingers are painted a glossy, champagne pink that matches his dressing gown. He’d knocked off everything on Bucky’s list and then some. All in all, Steve agrees with Bucky; he looks good in blue.

 

“Look at that,” Bucky says softly. “You look so pretty like this, Stevie.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve murmurs.

 

“I bet you like the way it feels, yeah?” Bucky says. “I bet you feel just as pretty as you look.”

 

Steve flushes, remembering yesterday in the shower, Bucky smirking up at him and asking him what he was meant to say when he wanted sex. “Sir…” Steve says quietly.

 

“Do you feel pretty, baby boy?” Bucky asks lowly.

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers in a mumble.

 

“Why don’t you show me how pretty you feel?” Bucky suggests. “Show me how those panties look with your hand down them, dolly.”

 

Steve’s arm is beginning to tremble, so he shifts back onto his side but still holds the phone at arm's length, angled so Bucky can see his whole body. He touches a hand to his throat, then trails it down his chest.

 

“We gonna do this with you in the car?” he asks.

 

“ _You’re_ gonna do this,” Bucky tells him. “I’m just gonna watch.”

 

“Yeah?” Steve says softly, trailing his hand down further now. “You just wanna watch me, sir?”

 

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Bucky answers. “Put on a show for me, sweet thing.”

 

“You wanna see me come?” Steve asks, a little breathless already as his fingers trail over his garter belt.

 

“I wanna see you touching yourself,” Bucky answers. “Because you look so damn gorgeous when you’ve got a hand on your cock, baby boy.”

 

“Yeah?” Steve asks, playing with the front of his panties, just trailing his fingers over the lace and letting his nails catch on the weave.

 

“You look prettiest when you’re lost in pleasure,” Bucky says. “And when you’ve got your lips stretched around my cock.”

 

“You wanna see me sucking you with lipstick, sir?” Steve asks. “I could get your dick all dirty, sir.”

 

“Now, there’s a good idea,” Bucky chuckles darkly. “Come on, lemme see how that lace looks with your little dick laying on it.”

 

“You gonna fuck me when you get home?” Steve asks, catching the waistband with his thumb and pushing.

 

“Hmm,” Bucky says, like he’s debating it, and Steve shuts his eyes with a soft moan as his hand closes. “I’ll fuck you after we go on that date.”

 

“You gonna let me suck your dick when you get home, then?” Steve asks, begging just a little. “I wanna suck your cock again, sir, I love it when you fuck my mouth.”

 

“You do, huh?” Bucky counters. “Look at me, dolly.”

 

Steve jerks his eyes open to make eye contact with Bucky. “S–sir?”

 

“You’re gonna have to wait to come until I get there,” Bucky says. “I want you to come with my cock down your throat.”

 

Steve whimpers and grips hard with his hand. “Gonna make my face a mess, sir?”

 

“You bet I am,” Bucky says. “Gonna give you a little lip gloss then take it off you.”

 

“Please,” Steve murmurs. “Gloss up my lips, sir. Let me lick it up?”

 

“Of course. You’d lick it up off the floor, wouldn’t you?” Bucky asks, smirking.

 

Steve gives a nod, curling up his legs and clenching his thighs; he moans softly.

 

“You’d lick it up off my shoes,” Bucky muses. “Such a slut for come.”

 

“Oh, yes, sir, yes,” Steve gasps.

 

“You wanna be my slut tonight?” Bucky asks.

 

“Yes, please, sir!” Steve gasps again.

 

“Such a pretty whore,” Bucky murmurs and Steve whimpers. “You’ve got such a pretty cock, baby, I ought’a put a bow on it.”

 

“Please,” Steve whispers. “Put a bow on me, sir. I wanna be a present. Let you unwrap me and take me.”

 

“You’d make such a lovely gift,” Bucky agrees. “Tied up in ribbons and bows, stuck under the Christmas tree and waiting patiently for your sir to come along and stuff your mouth up with my cock. You’re drooling for my cock now, aren’t you?”

 

“Always,” Steve mumbles, “always drooling for you, sir.”

 

“That’s because you’re such a good slut,” Bucky says and Steve gives a little gasp. “My little slut, cockslut and come-hungry whore.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve mumbles again.

 

“You’d eat my dick for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Everyday, sir,” Steve promises.

 

“You’d slurp my come off me, then turn around and stick your ass in the air for me to finger you open ‘til I’m hard again, then let me fuck you until you’re loose and wet and a complete mess.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers, his fingers slipping. “Sir, can I come?”

 

“Not until I get home,” Bucky tells him. “You wanna come already? You must’ve been a horny bitch, then. Or were you touching yourself as you got dressed for me, doll?”

 

“I didn’t touch myself, I promise,” Steve said quickly, “I didn’t!”

 

“Guess you’re just desperate then,” Bucky answers. “Been a whole, what, ten or eleven hours since you came last? Wonder how long you can go without somebody fucking your throat.”

 

“Not long,” Steve slurs. “Gonna have to choke on your dick every day, sir.”

 

“Guess I’ll just have to let you,” Bucky agrees. “Wouldn’t do to let my harlot get so desperate he goes looking for the first willing Alpha.”

 

“Only the one,” Steve says. “Only want the one.”

 

“Good,” Bucky answers. “‘Cause you know any fella that tries to touch my baby’s gonna find himself with a third eye.”

 

Steve shudders and loses a bit of his rhythm.

 

“You like hearin’ that?” Bucky asks, slowly grinning. “You like knowin’ your Alpha’s a possessive bastard, baby?”

 

Steve nods quickly.

 

“Nobody can have you but me,” Bucky promises. “Nobody can look at you but me. I’ll kill any idiot that even looks at what’s mine. You belong to me, baby.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles.

 

“I own you,” Bucky tells him. “I own you and I can do with you what I please. If I wanted you to kiss me goodbye every morning by sucking my dick, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Yessir!” Steve says.

 

“If I told you to drop to your knees in public, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?” Bucky asks.

 

“Yessir!” Steve says.

 

“If I told you to you to spread your legs, you’d do it right away without hesitation?” Bucky says.

 

“Yessir!” Steve promises.

 

“Such a good harlot,” Bucky purrs. “Such a perfect little slut.”

 

Steve’s fingers are shaking, the hand clutching his phone trembling from holding so tightly to it. “S–sir?” he whimpers.

 

“What is it, pretty slut?” Bucky asks. “What do you need?”

 

“Need to come,” Steve mumbles. “Please, can I, sir?”

 

“No,” Bucky tells him. Steve lets out a long whine. “Stop touching yourself.”

 

“Sir, please!” Steve whines.

 

“Stop,” Bucky growls. Steve whines again but pulls his hand from his panties. “Get your hand wet, sweet thing. Finger your ass a little.”

 

Steve shudders. “You wanna see?” he mumbles.

 

“Show me,” Bucky demands.

 

Steve turns onto his stomach, shrugs out of his dressing gown, and holds the phone at an angle over his back.

 

“You’re wearing a thong,” Bucky observes with a pleased tone. “You sure like looking the part, pretty whore.”

 

“You could just come home and stick your dick in me,” Steve mumbles, pushing aside the string of his thong. “Want to watch me open myself up, sir? Am I getting you hard?”

 

“You are,” Bucky tells him. Steve gasps, moaning, as he pushes a finger past his rim. “You’re getting me so hard, pretty slut. That’s what you live for, isn’t it?”

 

“I live for your dick, sir,” Steve mumbles.

 

“First thing you think of in the morning, isn’t it?” Bucky asks.

 

“Yessir!” Steve sighs.

 

“And it’s the last thing you think of when you go to bed? You’d let me fuck you in your sleep, wouldn’t you?” Bucky demands.

 

“Please, sir!” Steve says.

 

“Roll you over and shove my cock in you,” Bucky growls. “Whenever I want. Because you only want to have my cock in you, isn’t that right, pretty whore?”

 

“Yes, I’m a slut for you, sir,” Steve answers.

 

“That’s right, you are,” Bucky tells him. “You’re my slut. I own you. Your ass is to do with as I please. You only open your mouth for me to shove my cock in it. You live and breathe for my cock, don’t you?”

 

“Yes!” Steve gasps. “Yessir, yes!”

 

“You’re pretending your finger is my cock, aren’t you, cumslut?" Bucky growls. "You wish I was on top of you, shoving my cock deep in your ass.”

 

“Yessir, every second, sir!” Steve sighs.

 

“You want my cock in you every minute of the day,” Bucky declares, his voice is pleased, proud, and Steve moans loudly. “Guess I’ll just have to plug up your greedy hole so you don’t get everything you sit on wet, dolly.”

 

“Unplug me and slide home,” Steve whines. “I’m always so wet for you, sir.”

 

“Are you playing with your sweet spot, pretty baby?” Bucky demands. “You tappin’ it, making yourself squirm?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve says, “I still wanna come, sir –”

 

“Take your finger out,” Bucky orders him. “Show me your hand.”

 

Steve, whimpering, pulls his hand free and shifts to hold it limply in front of the phone. Bucky curls his lip at Steve, his eyes dark, and Steve whimpers more.

 

“You’ve made such a mess,” Bucky murmurs. “Wouldn’t do to get your new things dirty, sweet thing.”

 

Steve goes to wipe his hand on the bedspread.

 

“Hey, don’t get my stuff dirty!” Bucky says and Steve freezes. “You’re just gonna have to clean yourself up.”

 

Steve blinks, confused.

 

“Lick it up,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve flushes hotly. “Sir?”

 

“Lick your hand clean,” Bucky orders. “I don’t want you getting our things messy, little slut.”

 

“Um,” Steve says. He looks at his hand, at the slick covering it, glistening in the light.

 

“You got a problem with that?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve licks his lips. He shakes his head.

 

“What’s your number, Stevie?”

 

“Two,” Steve says carefully.

 

“You need motivation?” Bucky asks then. “You’ll eat nut, no problem. What’s a little slick?”

 

Steve swallows, his throat dry. He shifts onto his side, holding the phone away from him and his hand in front of his face.

 

“You know I love eating your ass,” Bucky says. “Get a taste for me, sweet thing.”

 

Steve swallows one more time, then shoves his glistening fingers into his mouth before he can get cold feet. He hears Bucky chuckle and Steve flutters his eyes shut, sucking the slick off his fingers.

 

“There’s a good slut,” Bucky says. “So pretty sucking on something, sweet boy. Tastes good, doesn’t it, baby boy?”

 

Steve nods, swallowing.

 

“Tastes sweet, doesn’t it?” Bucky says. “I ain’t got a sweet tooth, baby, but I’ll eat your sweet ass any day.”

 

“Should 69 when you get home,” Steve mumbles, licking at the gaps between his fingers.

 

“Isn’t that an idea?” Bucky chuckles. “Show me your pretty dick, Stevie. Let’s see how many times you can get close to coming before I get home.”

 

“When’re you getting home?” Steve asks, breathless and already pushing his spit-slick hand down his body.

 

“Fifteen minutes,” Bucky says. “I wonder…. Can you get close to coming five times, baby? My little slut can’t last long with a hand on his dick, can he?”

 

Steve shakes his head. “Not with you, sir.”

 

“I’m counting down,” Bucky tells him. “Touch yourself.”

 

“‘M still so close,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Are you?" Bucky chuckles. "My little cockslut’s strung out, ready to pop?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve says.

 

“You tell me when you’re about to come, pretty boy. Remember, you’re not allowed to come without permission. Your orgasms are mine to give out when you’ve earned them, sweet thing.”

 

Steve, his whole body trembling, throws his head back as he presses his toes into the bedspread. He lets out a long, loud moan, his hand cramping.

 

“S–sir,” Steve gasps, “sir, I’m gonna –”

 

“Stop,” Bucky orders.

 

Steve whines, but jerks his hand away and is left panting.

 

“Very good, sweet boy,” Bucky purrs from his phone. “Such a good whore for me, you obey me so well. One word and you give up on coming. Such a good little whore, baby boy.”

 

Steve is still panting, tense all over from the aborted orgasm.

 

“You know what I’m gonna do when I get home?” Bucky asks him. “Can you guess what I’m gonna do to you, pretty baby?”

 

Steve shakes his head, his breath too heavy to speak yet.

 

“I’m gonna come upstairs, take my cock out once I get off the elevator. I’m gonna come upstairs, and you’re gonna be hanging off the bed with your mouth open. And I’m just gonna put my dick in your mouth, baby boy.”

 

Steve groans. He clenches a hand over the phone, then shifts so his head is at the end of the bed instead. “Please,” he rasps.

 

“Then you can come, sweet thing,” Bucky tells him. “I’ll let you suck my dick for a little while, but once you’ve come, I’m gonna jerk off until I come all over your face.”

 

Steve shudders down to his core. “Oh, god, please – Please, sir!”

 

“Touch yourself,” Bucky demands.

 

And Steve does.

 

“Stop.”

 

“Touch yourself.”

 

“Stop.”

 

“Start again.”

 

“Stop.”

 

Steve is shivering all over, his hands trembling. He’s long since lost his grip on the phone, it lies on the bed next to his head. He’s not in subspace, not near it either, but the strain of nearing orgasm and stopping so many times has left him shaky.

 

“Open your eyes, Steve,” Bucky orders him.

 

Steve forces his eyes open. Bucky stands over him, leaning on the bed. Steve surges up and grabs the back of his neck, hauling him down for a kiss. Bucky presses a palm over his throat, then sweeps his hand down Steve’s body and starts scent-marking him all over. Steve shudders and kisses him harder.

 

“You ready?” Bucky asks against his lips. “What’s your number, Stevie?”

 

“Which is which?” Steve mumbles.

 

“Five’s not ready,” Bucky says.

 

“One,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky straightens up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to get the lipstick off of his lips. Steve, his head almost hanging off the end of the bed, sweeps his tongue over his lips. His lipstick tastes tacky and bitter. Bucky undoes his belt, the buckle clattering in the silent room.

 

“You already look like such a perfect mess,” Bucky tells him. “Such a sweet babydoll for me, Stevie.”

 

“I’m your slut, sir,” Steve whispers.

 

Bucky touches his cheek, then presses his knees against the bed on either side of Steve’s head. “And you make such an excellent slut, baby. Picture perfect whore, sweating and wet, makeup messed up. Sweet thing, aren’t you?”

 

Steve nods. Bucky smiles down at him and grabs his jaw, tipping his head back. Steve tries to open his mouth, but Bucky keeps his jaw shut.

 

“Didn’t I tell you I’d give you some lip gloss?” he asks, leaning over him now. “How about we add a little shine to these perfect, slut-red lips?”

 

Steve lets a low, desperate whine start in the back of his throat. Bucky holds his jaw in a bruising grip even though Steve isn’t trying to open his mouth anymore. Bucky leans over him, his knees pressing into the edges of the mattress and making them dip in two spots, and Steve shuts his eyes to inhale sharply the scent of an aroused Alpha. Bucky was right; Steve lived and _breathed_ for this. For the intoxicating, heady scent of his body and the sharp, metallic tang of his pre-come.

 

“Let’s see,” Bucky says quietly above him. “Pucker up for me, doll.”

 

Steve carefully purses his lips, Bucky’s fingers gripping his face making him feel like he’s doing duck lips. He jerks, then shudders at the first press of something heavy, both wet and hot on his lips. The whine picks up again, Bucky’s fingers on his jaw are still tight, Steve feels a sudden chill where the weight shifts and leaves his wet lips exposed to the air. He’s shaking all over still.

 

“There,” Bucky says, sounding proud. “A lovely gloss for my slut.”

 

Steve can only whimper.

 

“Are you thirsty, baby boy?” Bucky asks. “Your sir’s got something for you to drink.”

 

Steve nods as best as he can. Bucky changes his grip on Steve’s jaw, pulling his mouth open. Steve sticks out his tongue, and the weight presses against it; Steve can taste the tackiness of his lipstick and the salt of pre-come.

 

“Touch yourself,” Bucky commands quietly.

 

Steve curls a fist around himself. Bucky’s weight shifts and Steve’s mouth is suddenly full. He groans around it, his trembling fingers trying to establish a rhythm, and Bucky rocks his hips above him.

 

“Oh, look at you,” Bucky sighs. “I’ll never get over how eager you are to have my dick in your mouth, sweet boy. Or how gorgeous you look doin’ it. God, I wanna take pictures, just so I can remember what you look like.”

 

Steve moans, then reaches back with his free hand and taps Bucky’s hip once.

 

“Oh, you want me to?” Bucky asks. “You wanna look back on this, too, pretty slut?”

 

Steve taps his hand again.

 

“I should make you draw it,” Bucky says, his voice taking on a breathless quality. Steve swallows, pushing up with his tongue piercing and Bucky lets out a low groan. “Make my lovely slut draw his own lips stretched around my dick; your lipstick’s getting everywhere, pretty whore. It’s a good look, I’ll say.”

 

Steve moans again, his fingers slipping as he tries to maintain his rhythm.

 

“I’m gonna take your picture,” Bucky tells him, and he’s nearly growling. “You got an issue with that, pretty little slut?”

 

Steve taps his hand twice. He lifts his head up a little, slurping drool into his mouth, and Bucky groans again.

 

“Hold it right there,” Bucky says. “Keep using that piercing, hang on.”

 

Steve holds his head where it is, but keeps his hand moving. Bucky lets go of his jaw and a second later, Steve hears the camera effect.

 

“Perfect,” Bucky says. He grabs the underside of Steve’s chin. “Perfect slut, baby. The best-trained cocksucker in the world.”

 

Steve taps his hand once. Bucky laughs softly.

 

“You ready to come yet, baby?” Bucky asks. “Come on, I wanna see you come. Get these brand new panties a mess, sweet thing. C’mon, show me how much you love this.”

 

Steve’s groaning on Bucky’s dick, his hand cramping, his toes pressing into the bedspread.

 

“Come, pretty whore,” Bucky orders. “Get your fist dirty.”

 

Steve’s eyes are rolling back in his head.

 

“Come, Steve,” Bucky growls.

 

Steve gasps, chokes, and Bucky jerks out of his mouth. Steve sucks in air and curls up on himself as he scrambles to milk his orgasm, and above him, Bucky is panting.

 

“I’m gonna come on your face, little slut,” Bucky growls. “And you’re gonna clean yourself up, sweet thing. Gonna paint those pretty lips all white, baby.”

 

“Please, sir,” Steve rasps.

 

Bucky drops a hand onto the bed by his neck, gives a long groan, and Steve flinches reflexively as he feels the splatter hit his face. He opens his mouth, though, sticking out his tongue, to catch the last few drops. Bucky grabs his chin and forces his head back again.

 

“So beautiful,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m gonna take another picture, sweet thing. You just lie there and wait until I tell you can clean yourself up.”

 

Steve nods absently. He’s tempted to lick his lips, sweep up the waxy taste of lipstick and the salty taste of spunk, but he holds still like he’s told. Bucky lets go of his chin. Steve hears the camera shutter effect again.

 

“Gorgeous,” Bucky sighs. He wipes come off of Steve’s cheek, then pushes his fingers into Steve’s mouth; Steve lets him, sucking it off his fingers. “Stunning, sweet boy. You suck cock so perfect, baby.”

 

Steve preens at the praise, licking at Bucky’s hand as he feeds him the come splattering his face.

 

“Such a mess,” Bucky says, a trace of a purr at the back of his voice. “Do you think you’re satisfied, pretty little thing? I’ll fuck you properly later, don’t worry. Are you satisfied until then, baby?”

 

Steve nods. Bucky wipes off his lips and Steve licks his hand clean of the last of it.

 

“C’mere,” Bucky murmurs, his weight on the bed changing. Steve sits up, blinking, and Bucky scoops him into his arms. Steve slumps against his shoulder happily, a smile curling his lip. “God, I love this lingerie, sweetheart. You’re such a good slut, baby boy.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Beautiful lips,” Bucky tells him. “Gorgeous cock. So pretty in blue lace, sweet boy.”

 

“Yours,” Steve says.

 

“All mine,” Bucky agrees. “My sweet, sweet doll. My pretty boy. My harlot, my lover, all mine.”

 

Bucky puts him down and the cold marble of the bathroom floor under his feet makes him shiver. Steve yawns, covering his mouth with a hand, then grimaces at the smell of come and slick on his hand.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Bucky murmurs in his ear, then kisses his neck. “Can you stand?”

 

Steve nods, widening his stance a little. Bucky holds one of his hands, anyway, keeping him balanced. Steve blinks a few times, feeling his mascara clumping and he smiles a little. Bucky releases the snaps of his garters, unties his bralette and pushes it off his shoulders. Steve steps out of his stockings, then his panties and the garter belt, and Bucky takes a warm washcloth to his skin. Steve keeps a hand on his shoulder as Bucky kneels in front of him, wiping gently between his legs, then lets his hand slide down Bucky’s arm when he stands up. Bucky drops kisses onto Steve's stomach and up his chest as he stands, until he grips Steve’s jaw and kisses his lips.

 

“My beautiful Omega,” Bucky murmurs against his lips.

 

Steve nods sharply. “Yours, sir.”

 

Bucky kisses him again, sweetly and gently, then takes the washcloth to his face and wipes off his ruined makeup. Steve sways a little, but Bucky tucks an arm around his waist to keep him upright.

 

“Our supper’s downstairs,” Bucky tells him. “Then we’re gonna go see a movie. What movie do you wanna see, sweetheart?”

 

“What’s playing?” Steve asked.

 

“That’s a good question,” Bucky says. “We’ll have to look it up.”

 

Steve nods. Bucky tosses the washcloth into the sink, kisses him again, then picks him up by the waist and carries him back into the bedroom. He lays Steve down on the bed and Steve stretches out, pulling his arms above his head and yawning. Bucky kisses his throat, then his shoulder, then his chest and down his stomach before standing up.

 

Steve watches him move to the bags piled in the corner. He shifts onto his side and props himself up on an elbow.

 

“Looks like you enjoyed yourself this afternoon,” Bucky remarks. He digs around in the bags, then comes back with a pair of black lace boyshorts. “These are lovely,” he says.

 

“Backless,” Steve says. Bucky shakes them out and examines them.

 

“I like that feature,” he says. “Though, I think I’ll have to plug your tight ass to make sure you don’t get your clothes wet.”

 

Steve clenches reflexively. “To wear out?” he asks.

 

Bucky walks over to the bed, then pushes on his shoulder to make him fall onto his back and pulls the boyshorts over his ankles. “I think so,” Bucky answers as he pulls the panties up Steve’s legs. Steve lifts his hips for Bucky, then lays out his legs for Bucky to adjust the waistband and hem of the panties. “I was thinking about Friday.”

 

“What about it?” Steve asks.

 

“I’d like to have you wear that small plug,” Bucky says. “To the gala.”

 

Steve’s heart skips a beat. “It vibrates,” he says dumbly.

 

Bucky smiles at him. “It does,” he says with glee. “The remote is supposed to work up to fifty feet away.”

 

“Yeah?” Steve says, a smile curling his lip. “Gonna stop treating me like glass?”

 

“Oh, never,” Bucky answers, catching his jaw and squeezing. “You shatter so pretty, sweet thing.”

 

Steve lifts his chin. Bucky ducks and rubs his cheek and jaw against his neck, and Steve lets his eyes fall shut.

 

“You wanna do a test run?” Steve guesses. “Tonight?”

 

“‘S what I’m thinking,” Bucky says. He bites a spot just under Steve’s ear, sucks on it to make a bruise. “Where’s that ring?”

 

Steve points to the dresser. Bucky releases him and Steve throws his hands out to catch himself as Bucky walks away, picking up the signet ring on its chain and returning. He drapes it over Steve’s neck, then curls a fist in his hair and kisses his forehead.

 

“Your day collars’ will be here Friday,” he says.

 

“Good,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky kisses his lips once more, then lets go and pulls him off the bed. Bucky grabs the discarded dressing gown, then pulls it up his arms and ties it shut with the satin sash.

 

“So pretty,” he says softly. Steve lifts his chin, and Bucky sets a hand at his jaw. “Can I mark you?”

Steve nods. Bucky carefully takes his wrist to the line of Steve’s neck, then caresses his skin with the gland buried in his wrist.

 

“I’m so lucky to have you,” Bucky murmurs. “Lucky that you’ll let me own you, baby.”

 

“I’m lucky,” Steve answers, abruptly emotional. “Lucky that you want to own me.”

 

Bucky sweeps him into a hug and kisses him hard. Steve hangs limply in his grip; like a black and white movie, Bucky tips him back and kisses him unforgivingly and Steve lets him do it. There are few things, he’s finding, that he would not let Bucky do to him.

 

When Bucky breaks the kiss, Steve lifts onto his toes to curl his arms around his neck and hug him for a moment longer. Bucky bends and scoops him up, curling an arm under his knee and bracing his back with the other, and Steve hangs onto his neck as he leaves the bedroom. Daring, Steve presses his nose against the scent gland in Bucky’s neck and rubs against him lightly.

 

“Sweet Omega,” Bucky purrs as Steve does. “All you want is to be owned, isn’t it?”

 

“By you,” Steve agrees. Bucky lowers him onto the sofa in the parlor and drops a kiss onto his cheek. Steve slips back to lay over the sofa’s cushions, laying his arms above his head, and Bucky kisses his neck one more time before moving away. Steve touches the spot he’d kissed, then smiles to himself and relaxes into the cushions.

 

“Here we are,” Bucky says, returning with plastic takeout bags, plates, and spoons. “Still hot.”

 

Steve pushes himself up to a sitting position and starts pulling containers out of the bag Bucky puts down on the coffee table. “What movie do you want to see?”

 

“All I know that’s playing is Justice League,” Bucky says, sitting down next to him. “Maria told me to see it ‘cause Sasha wants to see it and we gotta determine if it’s appropriate for a seven-year-old.”

 

“It’s terrible,” Steve tells him. “Darcy saw it when it came out and said it was the most underwhelming superhero movie in the history of superhero movies.”

 

“There’s that World War two movie with, what, Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan?” Bucky says.

 

“Is that the one where Chris Evans plays an XL twink?” Steve asks.

 

“I think that’s the one where Sebastian Stan plays a sad gay,” Bucky answers.

 

“That’s every movie he plays in,” Steve insists.

 

Bucky laughs. He throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders and plants a loud kiss on his cheek. “You’re a peach,” he says, kissing him again.

 

“Lemme eat, jerkface,” Steve tells him, shoving him off to scoop saag onto his plate.

 

“Lemme kiss you,” Bucky answers, catching his waist and hauling him back to plant another loud kiss on his cheek. Steve tenses and giggles, then Bucky tickles his middle. Steve laughs and elbows him until he lets go.

 

“Jerk,” Steve repeats.

 

“Little punk,” Bucky answers, pinching under his arm. “A handsome fella wants to love on ya, a good slut lets him.”

 

“I let you love on me earlier,” Steve says, “now I wanna eat and you’re being thirsty on main.”

 

Bucky snorts. “Thirsty on main,” he repeats under his breath. Steve jabs a finger in his direction, then scoops rice onto his plate and picks up a spoon. “What does that even mean?”

 

“You never tell me what you’re saying in Romanian,” Steve replies, “check out Urban Dictionary.”

 

“De ce ți-aș spune?” Bucky says in Romanian. “Ești adorabil atunci când ești confuz.”

 

Steve looks over his shoulder. “Jerk,” he says firmly.

 

“Punk,” Bucky answers with a grin. “Come sit in my lap, baby boy.”

 

Bucky throws a leg onto the sofa behind him and Steve shifts to press his back against Bucky’s chest. Bucky kisses his neck, then picks up the naan on his plate and dips into the portion of tikka masala. He holds it up in front of Steve’s mouth, and Steve opens his lips without hesitation.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky purrs into his ear as Steve chews. “You’re precious, sweetheart.”

 

Steve’s ears flush. Bucky kisses his ear, then offers him another bite of tikka masala. As Steve chews, Bucky leans sideways to take another piece of naan bread. He uses Steve’s spoon to feed himself, then scoops up rice and paneer saag to hold in front of Steve’s lips.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky tells him as Steve accepts the food. “What’s your number, honey?”

 

“One,” Steve says after he swallows.

 

Bucky kisses his temple. “Let’s see the movie about sad gay soldiers.”

 

“Sure,” Steve answers.

 

“And you’ll have to remember you’re not allowed to come when I turn on your plug,” Bucky purrs.

 

Steve flushes again. Bucky nuzzles his neck, then offers him more naan.

 

“I think I want you to wear something comfortable,” Bucky goes on. “Something that’ll hide your cock when it gets hard.”

 

“‘Kay,” Steve mumbles.

 

“How about a pretty skirt?” Bucky purrs. “That way, if I need to, I can reach under it and touch you.”

 

“You gonna play with me during the movie?” Steve asks.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Bucky says. “But if I need to take you into the bathroom, then I’ll be able to reach your dick with no problem.”

 

“You plan on that happening, sir?”

 

Bucky kisses his neck. “If it happens, it happens,” he says. “I’d like to watch the whole movie, of course, but if my pretty slut needs a hand on his cock, I’ll be gracious.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky holds up another spoonful of rice and tikka masala. “Open up, sweet thing.”

 

Bucky feeds him most of the plate, refills it when it empties and eats what Steve doesn’t. He purrs praise into Steve’s ear as they eat, keeping him distracted from the sound of either of them chewing and the heavy feeling of a full stomach. After they’ve eaten, Bucky puts the plate aside and pulls his other leg onto the couch beside Steve, shuffling both of them until Steve’s laying on his chest and Bucky’s propped up by the arm of the couch.

 

“Let’s see,” Bucky says, taking out his phone. “Let’s go to the 9:20 showing, doll.”

 

“‘Kay,” Steve mumbles, content as he snuggles into Bucky’s neck.

 

“Have a little siesta,” Bucky tells him, kissing his hair.

 

“Darcy’s gonna come by on Friday to help me get ready,” Steve remembers then. “We’re gonna use the hot tub.”

 

“Fine by me,” Bucky answers. “I’ll show you how to run it before then.”

 

Steve gives a nod, then presses in and rubs his cheek against Bucky’s cervical scent gland. Bucky’s hands wrap around him and tighten.

 

“Sweet boy,” Bucky murmurs. “Where’d you been my whole life?”

 

Steve shrugs. “Waiting for you,” he says simply.

 

Bucky reaches up to tap his chin. Steve puts his elbows on the couch, framing Bucky’s face, and lifts onto them to look him in the eye.

 

“You’re precious,” Bucky tells him, curling a hand into his hair.

 

“Thank you,” Steve says happily.

 

Bucky pulls him down into a kiss. “A treasure,” Bucky adds. “Worth more’n all the diamonds and gold in the world.”

 

Steve smiles against his lips. “With you?” he murmurs. “I feel like that.”

 

Bucky pecks his lips again, then pushes his head down into his neck. Steve rubs his chin against Bucky’s scent gland, marking himself with Bucky’s scent, then settles down and lets out a content sigh.

 

“What’d you get yourself for Friday?” Bucky asks.

 

“New shoes,” Steve mumbles. “Some jewelry.”

 

“I got you a necklace to wear to the gala.”

 

Steve looks up, staying where he is tucked into Bucky’s neck. “A collar?”

 

Bucky flicks his eyebrows up, smirking. “‘Course. You buy yourself diamonds like I told you to?”

 

Steve nods. “Only a couple. I’ll only wear ‘em to stuff like Stark’s gala, anyway.”

 

“Good,” Bucky says. “‘Cause the collar I want you to wear Friday is diamonds, baby.”

 

“You did not get me a diamond collar,” Steve protests, sitting up.

 

“I did,” Bucky says, catching the back of his neck and squeezing. Steve lets out a small, involuntary purr and drops back against his chest. “Diamond choker with white gold. Like Yankov’s niece said to get.”

 

“Moneybags,” Steve complains under his breath. “I didn’t buy any diamond necklaces, anyway.”

 

“What shoes did you get?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve yawns, then sits up. “I’ll show you,” he says, swinging off of Bucky’s hips and heading for the stairs. Bucky gets up and follows him, and part way up the stairs he grabs Steve around the waist and scoops him up. Steve laughs, used to it by now, and lets Bucky carry him the rest of the way to the bedroom.

 

“Caveman,” Steve tells him as Bucky puts him down.

 

“Rah,” Bucky answers, ducking into his neck and biting down gently.

 

Steve giggles and goes limp against him, submitting to the Alpha. Bucky kisses the spot he’d bitten, then pushes Steve’s weight back onto his own feet.

 

“Show me the shoes you got,” Bucky tells him, patting his hip.

 

“These shoes,” Steve says, walking over to his bags. He pulls out the box and shifts aside tissue paper to show Bucky the heels. They’re platform heels, six inches tall and open toed with an ankle strap. They’re a glossy, holographic color, reflecting pink and white then a shiny silver elsewhere. Steve sits down on the bed, pulling the stuffings from it and slipping them onto his feet.

 

“They look like gorgeous death traps,” Bucky remarks as Steve stands up.

 

“Pfft,” Steve answers, “I’ve worn taller heels before.”

 

Bucky walks over to him and sets his hands on Steve’s hips. “They do make you a little more accessible,” he purrs, bunching up his dressing gown to expose the front of his body.

 

“I should break them in,” Steve says. “I’ll wear them tonight.”

 

“A good idea, pretty,” Bucky replies and kisses his cheek.

 

“You got Scotch tape?” Steve asks, sitting down again.

 

“Uh, yeah?” Bucky says. “Why?”

 

“Tape my toes together,” Steve tells him, taking off the shoes. “So my feet hurt less.”

 

Bucky gives a shrug. “Sure,” he says, and exits the room. Steve gets up and wanders over to his shopping bags, digging around in them for a minute until he finds what he wants. Bucky re-enters with a tape dispenser and Steve takes it from him, sitting down on the bed to tape his ring and middle toes together.

 

“It relieves pressure or something,” Steve says, putting the shoes on again. “I don’t remember but it helps.”

 

“Whatever you say, doll,” Bucky answers, picking up the skirt Steve had pulled out. “I like this,” he adds, shaking it out. “Little plain for you, though.”

Steve takes it back, then stands up and puts it on, swapping it for the dressing gown. Bucky whistles then.

 

“Never mind,” he says, grabbing Steve by the hips and tugging him in. “I like it.”

 

Steve smirks. The skirt, at first glance, is a plain black C-line skirt. Putting it on reveals that it’s almost entirely sheer, going opaque just in time to cover his modesty. It’s long, reaching Steve’s ankles, and has a slit up both sides all the way to his mid-thigh.

 

Bucky sticks a hand through the slit to knead his ass. “Very fitting,” he says.

 

“Happy with the ease of access?” Steve asks smugly.

 

“Delighted,” Bucky answers with a grin.

 

Steve grips his tie and tugs him down into a kiss. Then, he pulls away and dons a halter top, a deep blue and velvet in texture. He smooths it out over his stomach, then takes the makeup he’d retrieved and heads for the bathroom. Bucky follows behind him, sitting down on the toilet to, presumably, watch as Steve does his makeup.

 

“You’re gorgeous without it,” Bucky says as Steve dabs a little BB cream over his face.

 

“I know,” Steve answers. “But I look fucking hot with it on, too, so.”

 

“That, you do,” Bucky laughs. He reaches over and squeezes Steve’s ass. Steve bats his hand away.

 

“Hands to yourself, big man,” Steve scolds.

 

“That ain’t how this works,” Bucky says, getting up and pressing to his back. His hands sweep around Steve’s front, cupping his chest and then his groin and Steve tips his head back so Bucky can kiss his throat. “I get to touch my slut when I want, baby boy.”

 

Steve shivers a little. “Is that how it is?”

 

“That’s how it is,” Bucky purrs. He squeezes Steve’s junk and steps back, sitting back on the toilet lid. “Good whores don’t complain.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles, his ears hot. Bucky reaches out and smacks his ass and Steve jumps, but bites his lip instead of protesting. He knows Bucky would keep his hands to himself if Steve really wanted him to, but he doesn’t. He dips a brush into loose powder and goes about setting his foundation.

 

“Do this one,” Bucky tells him, picking up a bright purple-pink liquid lipstick and pushing it toward him. Steve takes it and sets it off to the side so he’ll remember it. “And this,” Bucky adds, picking up an eyeshadow palette of grays, whites, and blacks.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky lightly pinches his hip. “Good boy,” he says and Steve smiles before starting his highlighting.

 

He spends about twenty minutes doing his makeup, finishing off his look with the matte liquid lipstick Bucky had asked him to wear. He spritzes his face with setting spray, washes his hands and puffs up his hair with his fingers.

 

“Have you got pomade?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky reaches over his head to dig a jar out from the over-the-toilet shelf. He hands it to Steve and Steve unscrews the lid, pausing to enjoy the fragrance before fluffing up his hair with it.

 

“Gorgeous,” Bucky says when he’s done.

 

Steve walks over to him and presents his cheek. Bucky gives him a kiss, then smacks his hip and pushes him back.

 

“Clean yourself up,” he tells him. “I want to put that plug in you.”

 

Steve flushes. He lifts onto his toes to kiss Bucky’s cheek, his expensive lipstick leaving not a mark, and Bucky exits the bathroom. Steve pulls up his skirt, flips the lid up on the toilet and sits.

 

This, the gross part of prep, is not Steve’s favorite thing to do. But he does it, knowing that the aftermath is more enjoyable that way. He empties his bowels and uses baby wipes to probe around, freshening himself up and making sure everything’s clean. His slick, thanks to evolution, is a natural anti-bacterial, so the baby wipes are mainly to remove smell and particulates. After a few minutes, he disposes of the evidence and washes his hands, exiting the bathroom to find Bucky standing by the bed, holding the plug and its package and reading the package.

 

“Lay down,” Bucky says, pointing to the bed without looking at him.

 

Steve walks up to him and sticks out his cheek. Bucky gives him a kiss and Steve is happy to sit down on the bed.

 

“Face down,” Bucky adds, and Steve slides down the bed on an elbow before flipping over. Bucky’s weight makes the mattress dip, then his palm spreads over Steve’s left asscheek.

 

Steve spreads his legs and settles his chin on his arm, looking up so he doesn’t mess up his makeup.

 

“Let’s see here,” Bucky says softly behind him. He shifts Steve’s skirt, pulling it up and revealing his ass. “Gonna have to get you wet before I can put this in, baby boy.”

 

Steve bites the inside of his lip, not wanting to mess up his lipstick. He stays quiet.

 

“This thing’s only three inches,” Bucky says. Bucky tugs on the large, heart-shaped hole in the back of his panties, pulling it down and out of the way. Something cold presses against him and Steve twitches. “It’s designed to be worn while walking, it’s thin, flexible. But –”

 

The plug springs into life and Steve gasps, the intense vibration sending shockwaves throughout his body.

 

“It’s powerful,” Bucky remarks. “Like I told you, you’re not allowed to come during the movie.”

 

“What do I do if I have to?” Steve asks quietly.

 

“You give me a safeword,” Bucky tells him. Lips press to the globes of his ass and Steve clenches, his toes curling in his shoes. “Jersey if you want me to take you to the bathroom and take care of you, Brooklyn if you need me to take you home. I’ll ask you for your number, if you’re close to coming but don’t need to, give me a five. If you come by accident, I won’t be sore with you, honey, but I want you to tell me if you get close.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers. Bucky kisses his ass again. The vibrations abruptly get stronger, then Bucky works the plug between his cheeks and brushes the tip against him. Steve jolts and arches his hips up, back against Bucky’s hands and the plug.

 

“I’ve gotta see how clean you are,” Bucky says then, and his weight settles on Steve’s thighs, his hands gripping both of his cheeks. “Just to make sure.”

 

Steve nods. Bucky spreads his cheeks apart, the plug slips away and falls against the bed, but it’s still touching him.

 

“Look at you,” Bucky sighs quietly. “So pretty, sweet thing. So gorgeous. So tight, even though you’ve been fucked so many times. I’m lucky to own your tight ass, babydoll.”

 

“‘S all yours,” Steve mumbles.

 

“You’re right, it is,” Bucky agrees. He kneads at Steve’s ass with his fingers, his hands keeping him spread open. “You’re all mine, pretty whore.”

 

Steve shivers. He loves all the pet names Bucky calls him, but _pretty whore_ is definitely near the top. At the moment, he’s not sure if he likes it or _cockslut_ better.

 

“Gonna have to work you open,” Bucky says. “It’s been a long day for me, so you won’t mind if I just speed this up, dolly?”

 

Steve shakes his head. Bucky squeezes his ass, purrs out, “Good baby,” and then spits directly onto his hole.

 

Steve jerks and sucks in a gasp, then Bucky starts rubbing it in with a finger, spitting again to add more lubrication. Bucky works a finger in him, then Steve’s natural fluids meet Bucky’s spit and they mix, Bucky’s finger working them together. Bucky hums as he works, Steve’s tense in anticipation, and the plug is still vibrating.

 

“Aha,” Bucky says as his finger hits Steve’s P-spot and Steve gasps. “Found it.”

 

“S–sir,” Steve forces out.

 

“You don’t get to come again until I shove my cock in you,” Bucky tells him, now stroking his inner walls. “You’re gonna have to wait for that. Look forward to getting it, sweet thing. I’m gonna shove my big, fat cock in your tight little ass and fuck you until you come. How’s that sound, sweet slut?”

 

“Good,” Steve answers, swallowing. “So, so good, sir.”

 

“Very good,” Bucky praises him gently. A second finger joins the first and Steve bites down hard on the inside of his lip. “If tonight goes just fine, I think I’d like you to wear a plug all the time, just so I can be sure my little slut doesn’t get all his clothes filthy when he’s horny. ‘Cause you’re horny all the time, ain’tcha, baby? You’re a cock-hungry whore. If you ain’t careful, everything you wear’ll get stained and we don’t want that, do we?”

 

“No, sir,” Steve mumbles.

 

“So a plug all the time, it is,” Bucky says. “The fact that I won’t have to prep you as much will just be a bonus. We’ll see how tonight and Friday night goes, sweet thing, then starting next week, I’ll plug you up before I leave in the mornings for work.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers. Bucky squeezes his ass.

 

“Good baby,” he says.

 

Then his fingers retract and Steve tries not to let his body tense up again at the empty feeling. Bucky takes a second to turn off the plug, then pushes it into him. Steve sighs and forces himself to relax, getting used to the filling but unstimulating feeling.

 

“Good baby,” Bucky purrs again.

 

He squeezes Steve’s ass one more time, then lifts off of him and pushes him onto his back. Steve lifts his arms, laying them above his head, and Bucky runs a hand up his leg.

 

“Sweet Omega,” Bucky continues to purr and Steve lets his eyes shut, soaking up Bucky’s praise. “My perfect little harlot. You’re everything I could have ever wanted.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky squeezes his hip, then lets go. A finger knocks against his chin and Steve opens his eyes quickly.

 

Bucky gives him a smirk, then lifts his hand – the one he’d used to open Steve up – and licks his fingers clean. Steve clenches on the plug and a shiver of heat flashes through him.

 

“Sweet,” Bucky purrs, “literally. The sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

 

Steve darts his tongue out to lick his lips. Bucky bends over him and kisses him carefully, not messing up his makeup, then sits up and gets off the bed.

 

“Stay there,” Bucky says over his shoulder as he goes into the bathroom.

 

Steve pulls his legs up, putting his shoes on the bed, as Bucky takes the time to wash his hands. Bucky returns with a waschloth, and Steve automatically pulls his legs apart to let Bucky between them. Bucky shoots him a smile, then wipes him off gently before going back into the bathroom. Steve lets his legs slip back down the bed.

 

Bucky returns a second time, then takes his hands and pulls him up. Steve stretches and kisses him, then steps away to fix his clothes. The plug resting in his body reminds him that its there with every movement, its size just this side of too small to do anything on its own but keep him on edge. Steve fixes his skirt, then his top, shifts his stance and keeps himself from rolling his hips to bring the plug deeper.

 

“Gimme a minute and we can go,” Bucky tells him, catching his arm and kissing his cheek one last time.

 

Steve offers him a smile and fluffs up his hair with his fingers while Bucky removes his waistcoat and tie, dropping them into a laundry hamper and swapping his polished wingtips for less dressy shoes. Steve gets a coat while he’s waiting, a brown peacoat with a faux-fur lined hood that he puts his phone and wallet into the pockets of.

 

Bucky offers him an arm then, and Steve takes it. Bucky leads him out of the bedroom and down to the first level, pausing in the foyer to put on a leather jacket.

 

Steve whistles. “You should wear leather jackets more often,” he remarks. Bucky smirks and kisses his cheek.

 

They call the elevator and the operator doesn’t bat an eye at Steve’s skirt or heels. Steve curls an arm through Bucky’s and leans on his shoulder, breathing in deeply and letting out a soft sigh of contentment. Bucky turns his head to kiss his hair and Steve smiles to himself.

 

At the garage, Steve half-expects the suits to appear out of nowhere, but Bucky just leads him over to the same car they’d driven around the day before. Steve hadn’t really looked at it then, but he’s looking now. It’s a sleek, dark red Maserati, clearly new and looking like it’s fresh out of the garage that season. Steve runs his fingers over its paint as Bucky walks him to the passenger seat, thinking that it’s the color of freshly oxygenated blood.

 

Bucky opens his door for him and bows slightly. “Dragă mea,” he says, smiling. Steve lifts onto his toes to kiss him, then gets into the car and reaches for his seatbelt. Bucky ducks in and bats his hands away before doing it for him.

 

“Are you always going to do that?” Steve asks.

 

“Yes,” Bucky says simply, then catches another kiss before ducking out and shutting the door. Steve smiles and touches his lips, feeling the dry texture of his lipstick, and fancies that he can still taste Bucky’s mouth.

 

Then Bucky gets in on the other side and Steve shifts to put his head on his shoulder. Bucky reaches up and pats his cheek with a hand, then pushes the ignition button and the car begins to purr.

 

“Wait!” Steve says before Bucky can put it in gear. He pulls out his phone, connects to the car’s BlueTooth, and opens Spotify. “Continue,” he says.

 

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head. Steve settles against his shoulder and scrolls through his playlists for a second before choosing something low-key and playing it. He shuts his eyes and reaches over with his right hand to curl it around Bucky’s thigh.

 

“You don’t have to hold onto me all the time,” Bucky tells him. “That was just for while you were upset after dropping.”

 

“I don’t have to,” Steve says, “but I will.”

 

Bucky drops a hand to pick up his, kisses it, then puts it back. “You go right ahead,” he says and Steve smiles.

 

“You got your ID on you?” Bucky asks as they leave the garage.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says, not lifting his head from Bucky’s shoulder. “Why?”

 

“Theater we’re going to serves alcohol,” Bucky tells him. “I’d like a beer, but I don’t know about you, doll.”

 

“Hmm,” Steve mused. “Depends on how big the bar is.”

 

“It’s a full bar,” Bucky says.

 

“Where are we going?” Steve asks, now looking up.

 

“Cinemark,” Bucky says, glancing down at him. “Y’know, the real fancy one.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Of course. Are you going to get us one of those private booths?”

 

“Planning on it,” Bucky says casually. Steve gapes at him and Bucky rolls his eyes back. “Like I’m gonna stick you in the cheap seats when I’ve got the remote to the plug in your ass burning a hole in my pocket.”

 

“I guess,” Steve mumbles. Bucky raises his eyebrows at him, then digs around in his pocket. Steve yelps and digs his nails into Bucky’s leg as the plug comes to life, then just gasps again when it dies.

 

“I’m gonna have so much fun with that,” Bucky says happily.

 

“Oh, fuck me,” Steve whispers.

 

“That’s the plan,” Bucky answers. “If you behave, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Steve mutters. He puts his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Of course.”

 

Bucky pats his hand. “Don’t worry, sweet thing. I’ll be nice to you tonight.”

 

Steve picks up his phone and changes the music, swapping the low-key playlist for a sexier one. Jay Park’s _Mommae_ comes on and Steve settles back on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“What the fuck is this?” Bucky asks.

 

“Kpop,” Steve answers simply. “Korean.”

 

“Fucking weird,” Bucky says.

 

“Thanks, daddy,” Steve sighs.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve curls up against him as much as he can and shuts his eyes.

 

The plug bursts into life again. Steve tenses, his toes curl, and he bites his lip; the vibrations go from intense to a low, near constant but pulsing hum.

 

“Did I tell you to be quiet?” Bucky asks.

 

“No, sir,” Steve mumbles.

 

The vibrating picks back up. Steve grips Bucky’s thigh and whimpers softly.

 

“Then make as much noise as you want while we’re in the car,” Bucky tells him. The vibrations stop and Steve sags in both relief and disappointment. “You know I like hearing you.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers vaguely.

 

Steve is tense, waiting for Bucky to turn the plug back on, but they pull into a parking garage and Bucky doesn’t resume torturing him. Steve waits in the car for Bucky to open his door, but undoes his seatbelt himself before Bucky can do it. He takes Bucky’s hand and lets Bucky pull him flush against his chest.

 

“My pretty boy,” Bucky purrs into his hair. “Are you ready to go in there? What’s your number?”

 

“One,” Steve says easily. He’s no stranger to public sex, and this is tame as far as that goes. Bucky traces his jaw with a finger, then brings his chin up and kisses him.

 

“Good baby,” Bucky murmurs to him. “Let’s go.”

 

Bucky tucks Steve’s hand into his elbow and walks him from the parking garage to the main street. They stop for Bucky to get a ticket for parking, walking out into the dusk outside. The Cinemark, the largest theater in Manhattan, is across the road. Steve holds onto Bucky’s elbow with both hands, then shivers as a cold wind hits his side and his thin skirt flares a little; the wind cuts straight through the fabric, but where the skirt is cut to reveal his legs, the wind just bites at his skin.

 

“Maybe I should’ve worn jeans,” Steve mumbles as they cross the road. “It’s freezing.”

 

“But you look so pretty like that,” Bucky laughs, squeezing his hands. “It’ll only be for a minute.”

 

Steve still shivers again as Bucky opens the front door of the theater and guides him in. Steve takes a second to rub his knees together just inside the entrance, then Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him further inside.

 

“Come on,” Bucky says, guiding him toward a ticket booth. “No need to stand around, sweetheart.”

 

Steve ducks under his hand and wraps an arm around his waist. Bucky simply drapes his arm around Steve’s shoulders in return, giving him a brief squeeze.

 

There’s a long line, and then there’s a shorter VIP queue. Bucky, naturally, steps into the VIP queue. Steve really shouldn’t have expected anything less from him.

 

“I need two tickets to _Boys From Brooklyn,_ ” Bucky tells the sales associate. “Private booth.”

 

“Would you like booth E or booth G?” the sales associate asks, showing Bucky a map on a screen.

 

“E,” Bucky answers, taking out his wallet. He puts a credit card and a membership card on the counter for the sales associate to swipe, then takes them back and puts them away. If the sales associate makes the connection between the names on the cards and the Bratva, they don’t say anything.

 

“Here you are, sir,” the sales associate says, handing him two tickets and a receipt. Steve stifles a smile; it is really weird to hear other people calling Bucky _sir_ so casually. “Have a good evening.”

 

Bucky tucks away the tickets and receipt and takes Steve’s elbow to guide him away. Steve pulls up his phone and Googles information on the movie they’re about to see, knowing little else than it’s gay and sad.

 

“Do you think Sebastian Stan looks like you?” Steve asks Bucky as they head for the bar.

 

“If I were fifteen years younger and a twink,” Bucky answered.

 

“So you fifteen years ago,” Steve countered.

 

“I was never a twink,” Bucky protests. Steve shrugs. “You’re a twink,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve just laughs. “I think that’s obvious,” he says, elbowing Bucky. “I think I look like Chris Evans.”

 

“If you were two feet taller and a bodybuilder,” Bucky answers. “I like you the way you are, pretty.”

 

Steve smiles to himself and puts away his phone. Bucky raps his knuckles against the bar counter to catch the attention of the bartender, then turns back and picks Steve up by the waist to put him on a barstool.

 

“You’re just into twinks,” Steve tells him.

 

“I’m into a lot of things,” Bucky remarks, lifting an eyebrow. “Your twink ass is just one of them.”

 

The bartender approaches. “What can I get you, sir and ma’am?”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. Steve becomes the blinking man gif for a second.

 

“Uh,” he says, looking the bartender in the face. “Not a ma’am, honey.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” the bartender backpedals quickly. “Uh – Gentlemen. What can I get you?”

 

“What beers have you got on tap?” Bucky asks.

 

“Samuel Adams seasonal, Budweiser, Bud Light, Michelob, Corona,” the bartender rattles off. “Some local brews  from Flagship Brewing over in Staten Island.”

 

“What you got from them?” Bucky asks.

 

“A nice Baltic Porter, their APA, and IPA,” the bartender says. “And their autumn brew.”

 

“I’ll take the autumn brew,” Bucky says. He looks at Steve. “And the lady’ll have?”

 

“Your dick on a platter,” Steve retorts. Bucky laughs and swings an arm around his shoulder, kissing his cheek. “I’d like that IPA,” Steve tells the bartender.

 

“Could I check your ID?” the bartender asks, looking apologetic.

 

Steve nods, digs around in his pocket for his wallet, then unfolds it and tugs out his ID. He hands it to the bartender, who looks it over and hands it back.

 

“Coming right up,” they answer, knock on the counter and walk off. Steve gives Bucky a look.

 

“It was worth the look on your face,” Bucky chuckles.

 

“Jerk,” Steve says, feigning a punch to his gut and pulling it at the last second. “I’ve clawed men’s eyes out for less.”

 

“And I’m sure you have,” Bucky answers, still laughing softly. He steals a kiss and Steve gives him a dirty look when he pulls back.

 

“Jerk,” Steve says simply yet again. Bucky shakes his head and kisses his forehead.

 

The bartender returns, two tall pints of beer in hand. “Here we go,” they say, putting the glasses down. “It’ll be 26 even, sirs.”

 

Steve stifles another smile at the moniker. Bucky pulls out his credit card and the membership card. The bartender nods and walks away with them, returning a minute later with them and the receipt. Bucky signs it, then as the bartender leaves again, Bucky drops two twenties into a nearby tip jar.

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve says, eyeing him suspiciously. “A very proportional tip.”

 

“I liked the service,” Bucky says, grinning at him. He picks Steve up by the waist and sets him back on the ground, then takes their beers and starts off. “You want popcorn?”

 

“Duh,” Steve says, curling a hand into Bucky’s back pocket. “With way too much butter.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Bucky says happily.

 

They stop by the concession stand and Bucky buys a large bucket of popcorn that Steve gets to carry. Bucky leads him to the theaters, gives their tickets to an employee, and another employee escorts them to their booth.

 

“You can press that button if you need anything,” the employee tells them. “Enjoy the movie.”

 

Steve puts the popcorn bucket down on a small tray attached to the end of a row of four seats. There are two rows, meaning technically eight people could sit here, but Steve swears he saw the employee flipping a no vacancy sign on their way out. Steve doesn’t mind. Bucky doesn’t share, he knows.

 

“Come here,” Bucky says, taking the end seat and setting down their beers.

 

Steve walks over to him and Bucky grips his hips, rubbing his thumbs into each of Steve’s iliac crests.

 

“What do you do if you need to go to the bathroom?” Bucky asks him.

 

“Say Jersey,” Steve answers.

 

“And if you’re close to coming?” Bucky asks.

 

“Four,” Steve says. “Five if I’m really close.”

 

Bucky gives a nod. “Good thinking,” he says. “What do you do if you need to go home?”

 

“Say Brooklyn,” Steve answers. Bucky pulls him closer, then shifts to the edge of his seat and kisses Steve’s stomach.

 

“Good baby,” he purrs and Steve grabs his shoulders, digging his hands in. “You wanna sit in my lap, sweet boy?”

 

Steve nods. Bucky pulls him down and tucks him into his neck; the chairs are spacious and comfortable, and after Bucky reaches over the side, the footrest pops up and the back reclines a little. Steve burrows into his neck, then sits up and takes off his jacket.

 

“Good idea,” Bucky says, then wriggles out of his jacket. He picks up the paler of the two beers and hands it to Steve, then takes the second. “Cheers, babydoll,” Bucky says.

 

“Cheers,” Steve echoes. They clink glasses and Steve takes a testing sip. He tips his head to the side, a smile curling his lip, and takes a larger drag.

 

“Good?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve nods. “You’ve got foam,” he says, starting to giggle. Bucky wipes off his upper lip and Steve grabs his hand to lick his finger clean.

 

“Damn, baby,” Bucky murmurs. “You wanna suck on my fingers, sweet thing?”

 

Steve pulls Bucky’s fingers into his mouth and sucks the trace taste of foam from his skin. Bucky lets out a slow sigh and Steve pulls his fingers out again.

 

“Can’t go even an hour without something in your mouth,” Bucky murmurs, putting down his beer and touching Steve’s cheek. “So desperate, pretty whore.”

 

Steve puts his beer down and rests his head against Bucky’s collar. He takes Bucky’s hand again, then pulls his thumb past his lips and suckles lightly on it.

 

“God, you always suck like you’re giving head,” Bucky sighs. “I really ought’a take you to work with me and stick you under my desk so you don’t get bored out of your mind without something to suck on, sweet slut.”

 

“You should,” Steve agrees, plucking Bucky’s thumb from his mouth. “Better if you stick a plug in me before we leave.”

 

“Shit, you’re giving me ideas,” Bucky exhales. He pulls Steve in by the jaw and kisses him sweetly. “My pretty whore,” Bucky murmurs against his lips when they seperate.

 

Steve nods and lays his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky’s hands sweep up his body, then his wrist pushes past the slit in Steve’s skirt and marks his hip.

 

“My sweetheart,” Bucky purrs and Steve smiles a little, touched by Bucky’s sweet talking. “What would I do without you?”

 

“Be old and boring in peace,” Steve replies and Bucky laughs. Steve smiles a little wider as Bucky scent-marks down his thigh, then pulls his wrist up to push it under his shirt and rest it on his waist.

 

“So,” Bucky murmurs, “what’s your favorite color?”

 

Steve sits up, then laughs at him. “Really?”

 

“This is our first proper date!” Bucky protests. “We’re supposed to ask first date questions!”

 

“That’s a level one first date question,” Steve counters. “But it’s blue.”

 

“Really?” Bucky says, his smile growing. “Mine’s blue, too.”

 

Steve squints at him. “I think I know why,” he says slowly.

 

Bucky pinches his stomach. “I think you do,” he agrees, grinning.

 

Steve puts his head back on Bucky’s shoulder, turning to face the giant screen across the theater. It really is huge, the biggest Steve has ever seen in his life. There are commercials playing as the theater filled, so Steve takes out his phone and resumes the Google search for information on the movie. It _is_ rated R, so Steve wonders if they’ll be seeing any sad, gay sex.

 

“What’chu lookin’ for?” Bucky says softly in his ear.

 

“Looking to see if there’s any sex in this movie,” Steve replies.

 

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky says. “Part of it was filmed in one of my neighborhoods and I had to be on set.”

 

Steve sits bolt upright and gapes at Bucky. “What!” he says. “You! Were on the set of this movie!”

 

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah, the producers used some of my buildings in Brooklyn Heights.”

 

“Bucky!” Steve hisses. “You don’t just casually drop that kind of information!”

 

“Okay, then I won’t tell you I have a cameo,” Bucky laughed.

 

“What!” Steve gasps again.

 

Bucky grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down, squeezing the muscles. Steve reluctantly went limp, tucking himself back into Bucky’s neck.

 

“You motherfucker,” Steve mumbles petulantly.

 

“Keep an eye out for me,” Bucky says, folding his hands over Steve’s stomach and holding him securely. “I show up for ten seconds as a bootlegger picking on Evans’ character’s parents.”

 

“Ain’t that on the nose,” Steve grumbles. “The character’s name is Frank Adler, by the way.”

 

“Whatever,” Bucky says.

 

“You were in the fuckin’ movie and you don’t even know what the characters names are,” Steve complains. He pulls up his phone and sifts through Google some more. “Frank Adler and Chris Beck, those are the main characters. There’s Hayley Atwell playing Freya Deverell as Adler’s beard and Hugo Weaving’s the main villain, some mad Nazi scientist called Noctus or some bullshit.”

 

“Whatever, I was only around for the scenes they did in Brooklyn,” Bucky says.

 

“And did they do sex scenes in Brooklyn?” Steve asks primly.

 

“I guess you’ll have to find out,” Bucky answers. Steve rolls his eyes and exits Google in favor of opening Instagram.

 

“Jerk,” he mutters under his breath, for effect.

 

The plug bursts into life and Steve drops his phone. He gasps, then claps a hand over his own mouth and presses the back of his head into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky chuckles into his ear, then the vibrations _increase_ and Steve twists to hide his face in Bucky’s shirt. It’s lucky his makeup is so light, otherwise, he’d smear it doing this.

 

“Am I still a jerk, pretty slut?” Bucky purrs to him. “Or have you decided to stop being a brat?”

 

“‘M always a brat,” Steve pants out. The vibrations pick up again and Steve bits his lip hard to keep from moaning.

 

“Good whores thank their sirs for giving them attention,” Bucky says to him. “Good boys thank their sirs for treating them to a nice evening. Are you gonna be a good boy, sweet thing?”

 

Steve nods feverishly. The vibrations lessen, then die and he exhales slowly, clenching on the plug.

 

“What do you say?” Bucky asks him quietly.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve breathes out.

 

Bucky kisses his forehead. “You’re very welcome, dragă mea.”

 

The lights in the theater dim. Steve shifts in Bucky’s lap so he’s facing the movie screen, takes his beer from the side table and sips slowly and appreciatively at it while the previews begin. Bucky’s hands rest over his stomach, his fingers interlocked like he’s set on keeping Steve in his lap. Not that Steve would want to get up.

 

The commercials end. Steve’s drunk most of his beer and a lot of it’s gone to his head already. He curls up against Bucky’s chest and props his cheek against him, caring little that he might smudge his makeup, and nuzzles lightly.

 

“What’s your number?” Bucky asks abruptly.

 

“One,” Steve says. “Lil’ bit buzzed, but I like it.”

 

“Eat some popcorn,” Bucky tells him and Steve obeys, trusting his Alpha to take care of him.

 

In fact, he completely forgets about the plug in his ass. The movie starts, a slow panning shot of a Brooklyn sunset in full black and white, and the artist in Steve is squirming to pick that shot apart. Slow, old school jazz starts to play and Steve thinks he recognizes it as a Billie Holiday track from his mother’s ancient vinyl records. The camera pans lower over the harbor, over the city, until it settles on a crumbling brownstone and color begins to bleed into the black and white as the song’s lyrics begin and Steve can identify it; _I Can’t Believe You’re In Love With Me,_ by Billie Holiday. That had been one of his mother’s favorites.

 

The camera slowly zooms into an upstairs window, focusing on a radio which seems to be the source of the grainy music. Color bleeds fully into the picture, showing the shiny brass knobs and the beaten texture of the oak wooden table it sits on. Steve already loves this movie, just from how beautiful those first thirty seconds had been.

 

Then the camera sweeps off to the side and reveals two men bent over each other in a single twin bed that’s got a blanket tied to the headboard so it doesn’t make noise as it hits the wall. Steve gives Bucky a dirty look.

 

“There,” he hisses, “sad, gay sex.”

 

Bucky laughs softly. He kisses his forehead and Steve settles back to watch the movie.

 

The plot is basic. Frank Adler, played by Chris Evans, is an XL twink and a drag queen. Chris Beck, Bucky’s twink look-alike, is Frank’s alcoholic boyfriend who keeps seeing a different woman every week to avoid suspicion being cast on the fact that they live together. Then World War II happens and they get drafted. Sad and gay, like Steve anticipated.

 

Bucky’s cameo is halfway into the movie. By that point, Steve’s eaten enough popcorn to take the buzz off from his half of a pint and completely forgotten that the plug he’s wearing has a remote.

 

Bucky turns it on the second his face appears on the screen. Steve sucks in a breath that doesn’t have time to turn into a moan as Bucky claps a hand over his mouth and holds him down.

 

“Comfortable?” Bucky whispers in his ear. Steve’s pressing his ass back into Bucky’s hip, his eyes rolled back in his head. “Does it feel good?”

 

Steve nods frantically. The plug’s way too damn powerful for being hardly three inches long and almost too soft to be pushed into him.

 

“Look,” Bucky whispers. Steve forces his eyes open and sees Bucky’s face on the big screen, glaring down Adler’s mother in a flashback. “Watch.”

 

 _“I don’t know what folks do back in the Mother country, Adler, but here in the States, when you owe a guy money, you don’t pay ‘im back with a knife,”_ Bucky’s voice, hard as steel and almost unrecognizable, pours over the theater’s expensive speakers and Steve, a little drunk and high on endorphins, feels like Bucky’s become omnipotent in that moment. _“You pay a fella back on time, you don’t got no problems. You don’t? You gon’ regret owin’ him anything in the first place.”_

 

“They offered me a different cameo,” Bucky says in his ear. “But I said I wanted the enforcer’s role. Less lines, I told ‘em. I couldn’t commit to the one they wanted me to do. But you know why I really did it?”

Steve shakes his head. Bucky’s hand over his mouth is restricting his breathing almost. He feels twice as drunk as he’d been before Bucky turned the vibrator on.

 

“There’s a fella that owed me money in this movie,” Bucky says. “Not much, maybe ten or twenty grand, but it’s the principle of the thing, sweetheart.”

 

 _“Please, I can pay you, I just need more time,”_ Frank Adler, Sr., begs on the screen.

 

 _“I gave you time,”_ Bucky’s character answers, drawing a gun. _“I got mouths to feed, too, y’know. So here’s the deal: You pay back what you owe me in labor and I don’t kill you. You got a son, don’t you? A nice strong boy. Give him to my boss and he lets you and your wife live.”_

 

“After I did that cameo, I got what that guy owed me plus interest,” Bucky says. “Sometimes it takes subtle hints to get what the family’s due. Sometimes it takes a little more head-knocking.”

 

Steve swallows hard. He reaches up and tugs on Bucky’s hand. Bucky lets go of his face, instead curling the hand over his throat and holding him, just holding him, not squeezing. Steve takes a shaky breath.

 

“You know why I wanted you to see this scene?” Bucky asks him. Steve shakes his head. “Your friends over at Brass Fang owed me some papers, sweetheart.”

 

Steve’s heart skips a beat. Bucky dials down the vibrations on the plug, but Steve is still shaking.

 

“They’re gone,” Bucky murmurs. “Fang’s gone. The girls are workin’ for me now, they’re gonna get paid back all the money Rumlow and Rollins skimmed out of their pay. Rollins tried too late to take me out, and he definitely went about it the wrong way, dragoste. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes,” Steve whispers quickly. “I belong to you, sir.”

 

“You belong to yourself,” Bucky says in his ear. “Those papers that Fang had? They’re void now. Your life is yours.”

 

“Then I’m giving it to you,” Steve answers. “I’m yours.”

 

Bucky’s palm sweeps up Steve's neck to pull his head back and their lips connect. Steve’s not paying attention to the movie screen, the flashback ending with Chris Evans’ character being handed off to the Irish mob, as Bucky kisses him with finality.

 

“That’s what I meant about submission,” Bucky murmurs to him. “When you first came to me, I asked if you knew what it truly meant. Your life is yours, and you’re happily giving yourself to me.”

 

“I understand now,” Steve answers.

 

“It’s the greatest gift I could ever receive, dragoste,” Bucky promises him.

 

“What does that word mean?” Steve whispers.

 

Bucky kisses Steve's forehead. “Something nice,” he says quietly.

 

The plug switches off and Steve lets out a heavy sigh, his head falling to the side under Bucky’s chin. Bucky’s wrists press to his skin, actively scent-marking him like property, like territory, and Steve shivers.

 

“It means you’re mine,” Bucky says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _bucky is not the most powerful man in new york for no reason. if you liked this and you want to shout at me about how much you liked it, please feel free! you can head over to chaos's tumblr and reblog the art sthe made, too, bc chaos worked super hard on all the art for this fic and she deserves all the love in the world. thank you for sticking around this long, is it really this long already? "geez, moony, why do you write so much?" is what lexi says, not you guys, bc you love all this free content. but if you would like to support me, i do have a[ko-fi page](https://ko-fi.com/A6471DU1) that you could check out and so does [chaos](https://ko-fi.com/A818H83). have a lovely weekend and i'll see you tomorrow morning with chapter 20, **sugartits and hot lips**. (hint, sugartits is darcy.) have a good night!_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  **De ce ți-aș spune?** = _Why would I tell you?_  
>  **Ești adorabil atunci când ești confuz** = _You are adorable when you are confused_  
>  **dragoste** = _love_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	20. sugartits and hot lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _and here we go again_

##  _sugartits and hot lips_

 

The movie ends with both Frank Adler and Chris Beck going home after the war, facing an empty apartment, and then leaving again. Steve’s finished his beer by then and Bucky’s tormented him with the vibrator three more times, never bringing closer to coming than a three. The movie closes with notes, revealing that it had been based on the real lives of two real soldiers from Brooklyn, taken from their letters to each other during the war, and that after the war, they’d taken all the money they had and vanished in Los Angeles, where they lived out the rest of their days together until they died in the 70s of AIDs. It’s just as sad as Steve had anticipated, but as the end scroll concludes, there’s a note from the producers; 15% of all the profits from the movie will be donated to amfAR, a charity dedicated to finding a cure to HIV and AIDS. Steve feels a little better about that, being on PrEP himself.

 

He’s definitely buzzed, though, and wobbles a bit when he gets up. Bucky puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into his side, and Steve happily accepts his support, leaning on him as they make their way out. Bucky takes him home, puts him in bed, removes the plug and fucks him until he blacks out. Bucky stays home from work the day after and they spend all day in bed, sleeping through the morning and fucking the rest of the day. Steve’s living his best life.

 

Friday morning dawns with Bucky’s alarm going off. Steve groans and pulls Bucky’s arm over his ear, only Bucky takes it away and kisses his neck before turning the alarm off.

 

“C’mon,” Bucky murmurs, rolling back over to blanket Steve’s back and kiss his cheek. “Time to get up.”

 

“No-ooo-oh,” Steve whines.

 

“Yes,” Bucky rumbles, nuzzling his neck now. Steve huffs and shrinks closer to him, pulling the blanket over his chin. “I’ll make coffee,” Bucky adds. “You’ve got your friend coming over later, remember?”

 

Steve groans and shifts to face Bucky. He blinks, then yawns and curls a finger at him. Bucky smirks, but bends and kisses him.

 

“Ugh,” Steve says into his mouth, then pushes him off. “Y’ve got morning breath.”

 

“Coffee,” Bucky decides, then swings off of him and gets up

 

Steve pouts for a second at the ceiling, then gets out of bed and grabs his bathrobe from the post of the headboard. It’s not the lace one, rather a white satin dressing gown that does a better job of making him feel covered when wearing it. He leaves it open, showing the sheer pink teddy he’d worn to bed. Bucky’s shrugging on his own bathrobe as Steve steps past him into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and Bucky catches him by the waist at the last second to yank him in.

 

“Lookit’chu,” Bucky purrs as he nuzzles Steve’s neck. Steve just tips his head back and lets him. “Pretty little thing, just in your nightgown.”

 

“You gotta brush your teeth before you can kiss me again,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Only if I wanna kiss your mouth,” Bucky murmurs, then bites gently at his neck. Steve hums vaguely and leans back against him. “I can kiss anywhere else, right?”

 

Steve gives another vague hum. Bucky spins him around, lifts him by the waist and presses his back into the open French door. He rubs his jaw and cheek against Steve’s neck, the beginnings of his beard tickling where it had itched when Steve first met him. It puts the time difference, the month that had passed since they’d met, into stronger definition.

 

“Can’t believe how lucky I am to have you,” Bucky murmurs into his ear. “You look like a dream and feel even better, taste and smell like heaven.”

 

“If you’re tryna get a fuck in before breakfast, I still want to brush my teeth,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky kisses his jaw, then his temple and nuzzles the side of his head. “Nah,” he says, “just reminding you of how happy I am to have you.”

 

A sappy smile breaks Steve’s lips and he pulls Bucky into a proper kiss, morning breath be damned. It’s sweet and lingering, and when Bucky finally puts him down, Steve is still smiling that sappy smile. He’s smiling as he brushes his teeth, or he does his best to. He smiles when Bucky smacks him on the ass as he leaves the bathroom and he’s still smiling when he wanders back into the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and craving coffee. Bucky scoops him up in a bridal carry, which he ought to expect from him at this point, and carries him down the stairs to set him on the kitchen counter.

 

“My pretty Omega,” Bucky tells him in a purr before stealing away to brew coffee. Steve sets his hands in his lap, slouching, and grins about absolutely nothing.

 

Breakfast is fried eggs and toast and Steve eats at the table instead of kneeling for Bucky to feed him, just because fried eggs are harder to do that way and he doesn’t want to make a mess. Bucky still distracts him from the fact that they’re eating by calling him sweet names, and Steve can’t stop smiling.

 

Eventually, Bucky does have to leave for work. Steve stays in his dressing gown and watches him get dressed for the day, then walks with him to the elevator and gives him a long, sweet kiss while it rises to the top floor. Bucky holds his waist and touches their foreheads together, smiling down at him, and Steve’s cheeks are hurting from all this grinning.

 

“I feel like a housewife,” Steve remarks. “Maybe I should’ve packed you a lunch.”

 

“You can pack me a lunch Monday,” Bucky answers, tapping the underside of his chin even though Steve’s already looking at him. “You’d make a damn good housewife, too.”

 

“Hell yeah,” Steve says, puffing up his chest. “All I’d do is sit around in my lingerie waiting for you to come home.”

 

“That’s something I can get behind,” Bucky murmurs.

 

They kiss one more time and the elevator dings before it opens. Bucky tucks a strand of hair behind Steve’s ear and drops one last kiss onto his nose, then pulls away and steps onto the elevator. Steve waves to him, grinning, as the elevator doors shut.

 

Steve just stands there for a long second after that, beaming at nothing and letting the marble chill his bare toes underneath where the hem of his dressing gown touches the floor. His hand falls onto his chest, then he picks up the signet ring he’s still wearing on a chain around his neck and turns it in his fingers. Then, he goes back upstairs.

 

His clothes have been put away by then, a second dresser having been delivered the previous evening and Bucky had assisted with his unpacking. He heads for his dresser, opens a top drawer and takes out a pair of satin boxers, pulling them on under his nightgown. He’d slept commando, since Bucky had fucked him just before they’d gone to bed the night before, but he doesn’t need to walk around commando now that Bucky’s gone. Darcy would be arriving around eleven, it isn’t yet eight and Steve has little to do.

 

So he appropriates Bucky’s tablet and starts looking at community college courses. If he puts his mind to it, he can get his GED finished by the spring and enroll at NYU the following year.

 

Darcy calls him at 10:50 and Steve puts away the tablet to answer her. She’s standing in the street, looking confused.

 

“How do I get inside?” she says instead of hello. “I’m apparently not on the list?”

 

“Oh, shit,” Steve says. “Gimme a minute and I’ll come down, okay?”

 

“Sure,” Darcy answers. Steve just hangs up.

 

He dresses hastily, putting on yoga pants and throwing on Bucky’s faded Army T-shirt, then shoves his feet into a pair of rain boots and throws on a coat before grabbing his phone and heading for the elevator. It takes a second to arrive and the operator says nothing as he entered.

 

“Lobby, please,” Steve says. The operator nods and presses the correct button. Steve sends Darcy a text, saying he’s on his way, then rocks back and forth on his heels while the elevator descends the 95 floors to get to the lobby.

 

At the lobby, the elevator doors part to reveal a group of people in business casual dress. Steve ignores the distasteful looks on most of their faces at his rumpled appearance and walks as quickly as he can to the front doors. Darcy is standing just outside, next to the doorman and a beefy guy in a suit.

 

“Hi,” Darcy says awkwardly.

 

“Sorry,” Steve says, then glances at the doorman and the guy in the suit. “Uh, she’s with me.”

 

“Your name?” the doorman asks dully.

 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve answers. Then he pulls the signet ring from under his shirt, showing it to them. “If this helps…”

 

The doorman looks at it, then at him, and puts away his list with a nod. The suit opens the door and bows to them.

 

“Have a lovely day, Mr. Rogers,” he says.

 

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles. Darcy slips past him into the building and Steve follows her in. The suit does, too, but he heads for another part of the lobby while Steve leads Darcy back to the elevators.

 

“What’s that?” Darcy demands, reaching over and picking up the signet ring lying on his shirt.

 

“Family crest, I guess,” Steve says. Darcy whistles and drops it. Steve covers it with a hand, then tucks it back under his shirt. “Bucky usually wears it. He gave it to me yesterday to wear until my day collars get here.”

 

Darcy raises her eyebrows at him. “You’re getting day collars? What, is it a 24/7 detail?”

 

“Not really, I just wanted both,” Steve says. They join the queue for the central elevator and Steve absently reaches back up to pull the chain out from under his shirt. “I might ask to keep this, though.”

 

“I would,” Darcy says.

 

“Or at least get one of my own,” Steve adds quickly. “Since he probably needs to wear it.”

 

Darcy shrugs. “Whatever floats your boat.”

 

In the elevator, the same operator briefly makes eye contact with Steve and simply nods. Steve takes Darcy’s elbow and steers her into the back of the elevator, where they won’t be in the way of everyone else getting off first.

 

“What floor are you on?” Darcy hisses to Steve.

 

“Penthouse,” Steve says. “95th floor.”

 

Her eyes bug out. Steve rolls his eyes at her.

 

Most of the elevator empties by the 50th floor. The last person to get off before them leaves on the 78th floor. Darcy elbows him as they pass the 80th floor.

 

“Do we tip him?” she hisses, pointing to the operator who stands stiffly facing the control panel.

 

Steve shrugs, then shakes his head. Nobody else had. Darcy looks away, her eyebrows high on her forehead.

 

At the 95th floor, the operator tips his hat as the doors open. Steve gives him a wave and pulls Darcy inside. She looks around, her eyes wide, and does a slow rotation to look at everything. Steve pulls off his coat and hangs it up, then just stands there, feeling a little awkward as his best friend examines the opulence and luxury of Bucky’s marble penthouse.

 

“Wow,” Darcy mutters.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Um, the hot tub’s up on the roof.”

 

“He’s got the roof?” Darcy whispers.

 

“He owns the building,” Steve says. Darcy drops her mouth open to gawk at him. “Don’t look at me like that,” Steve complains.

 

“Bitch!” Darcy gasps, then whirls around to point at pretty much everything. “This!”

 

“You knew Bucky was rich,” Steve says.

 

“That’s a fucking grand piano!” Darcy says, jumping and planting her feet firmly apart to point at it instead, then jumps again and points both hands at the floor. “That’s fucking pure marble!”

 

“That’s the whole point of being a sugar daddy!” Steve insists. “He’s loaded, so what?”

 

“Does he even _play_ the piano?” Darcy demands.

 

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know.”

 

Darcy grabs her knit beanie with both hands. “Then why does he have a fucking grand piano?” she whispers.

 

Steve shrugs again. He walks over to it, drops his phone onto the top and plops onto the bench. He cracks his knuckles, then starts playing Fur Elise.

 

He falls into the song faster than he would have thought. He stumbles once or twice in the first few notes, but then his fingers pick up the groove and he’s playing the song from memory easily. Darcy wanders over, her mouth hanging open, and Steve ignores her as he carries on. It had been a while since he's really played the piano, but in that second, it feels like barely moments.

 

He finishes the piece and looks up. Darcy’s holding his phone level and aiming it at him.

 

“Are you taking a video?” he asks, frowning.

 

“Yep,” she says. “Bucky’s contact is called sir, right?”

 

“Oh, my god,” Steve whispers. He sticks out his hand. “Give it to me.”

 

“Nope!” Darcy calls, then abruptly takes off running. Steve jumps up from the piano bench and chases her up the stairs, yelling at her, but she runs into Bucky’s office and slams the door shut. Steve bangs on it, then grabs the handle and tugs a few times.

 

It gets yanked open and Steve stumbles inside. Darcy, smirking, hands him his phone.

 

“Too late,” she says smugly.

 

“Fuck you,” Steve wheezes.

 

“Seven Benjamins,” she says, then snaps her fingers.

 

Steve snatches the phone and unlocks the screen. He groans, seeing his texts with Bucky and the video as the most recent message.

 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Steve says.

 

“You’re welcome,” Darcy answers.

 

“Oh, shit, he’s typing,” Steve gasps. He grabs Darcy’s shoulder and shakes her. “I hate you!”

 

“No, ya don’t!” Darcy sings.

 

Steve shakes her again as his phone pings.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_I didn’t know you could play the piano._

 

“What do I do?” Steve hisses.

 

“He’s your boyfriend!” Darcy hisses back.

 

Steve gives her a shove. Then lifts off the sideboard he’d been leaning on and leaves the office, heading into his and Bucky’s room. Darcy follows him, then whistles while Steve drops onto a fainting couch and leans back, replying to Bucky’s text.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_Darcy stole my phone._

 

Steve lifts a hand to his mouth. Darcy lunges and grabs it before he can bite a nail and Steve sticks it under his ass with a flush. He bites his lip instead. Darcy flops down next to him, draping herself over his back and hugging him.

 

“I did you a favor,” she insists.

 

“Shh,” Steve says.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_I see. You should play for me sometime._

 

“I don’t play the piano!” Steve hisses.

 

“Bitch,” Darcy answers.

 

Steve waves her off, jerking his hand out from under his ass to type.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_I don’t play much. I stopped playing piano in high school._

 

“Why?” Darcy asks. Steve just bites his lip.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_No time like the present to pick it back up._

 

Steve almost puts a nail back in his mouth, but jerks it away before he can mess up his nails.

 

“What?” Darcy asks. “What’s wrong with playing the piano?”

 

Steve shrugs. He answers Bucky before he answers Darcy, just texting him back a _maybe_ and leaving it there. He knows Bucky won’t push it, at least not over text.

 

“What’s wrong?” Darcy says.

 

“Nothing,” Steve says quickly. Darcy squeezes his middle. “Okay, really, it’s nothing, I just haven’t played in a long time. I used to be really good and, y’know, fallen out of practice.”

 

“That was really good,” Darcy tells him. “Dude, you did it from memory!”

 

Steve shrugs again. “Maybe,” he says.

 

Darcy hugs him again, properly, and bumps her forehead against his shoulder in a maternal gesture. Steve reaches over his shoulder and pats her head, then pulls out of her grip and gets up.

 

“I’m hungry,” he says, “there’s leftover Indian in the fridge.”

 

“Is it still good?” Darcy asks as they go back downstairs.

 

“Fair as I’m aware,” Steve says. “It’s from last night, anyway.”

 

They eat in the kitchen, Darcy brewing a fresh pot of coffee and claiming Bucky’s coffee maker cost more than her monthly rent. After they eat, Steve brings her up to the roof and the hot tub. They’re 95 stories up, there’s not a building in the area that reaches even the 90th floor, so Darcy just strips down to her bikini up there. Steve leaves her to change downstairs, getting into board shorts and a swim bandeau, and when he joins her again, she’s relaxed into the water.

 

They spend a little over an hour in the hot tub and only get out when they’re both prunes. From there, Darcy takes over his bathroom and starts doing a million different things to him. Threads his brows, waxes his whole face it feels like, puts two different facemasks on him – a deep purification mask and then a nourishing one – and then touches up his mani/pedi. Halfway through it all, Steve remembers the TV in the shower, jumps up, and connects his Spotify to it.

 

“Bitch!” is all Darcy has to say about that when music starts playing on three speakers throughout the bathroom.

 

From there, the waxing resumes. This time, it’s the rest of him, from his toes up.

 

“You ought’a do this in a salon,” Steve tells her.

 

“We both ought’a do this in a salon,” Darcy answers. “As in, get it _done_ in a salon.”

 

“You’re cheaper,” Steve says.

 

“Bitch,” Darcy sighs.

 

When that’s done, he lathers himself in baby lotion and ends up sprawled on the marble bench to let his legs soak up the moisturizer, wearing only his shirt and the cheap thong he’d put on for the waxing.

 

“So, you told sugar daddy you wanna be caned with a ruler yet?” Darcy asks.

 

“Nope,” Steve says. “After I talk with the shrink Monday.”

 

“Bitch,” Darcy answers sympathetically.

 

It’s nearly three after Steve’s soaked up the lotion. Darcy leaves the bathroom so he can take a shower, and when he’s done, he dresses in his satin bathrobe to let her back in. She blow-dries his hair and uses her curling iron to shape it into tasteful waves on the top of his head, securing it with max hold hairspray. He does the base of his makeup himself, but she does the rest for him. By five, Steve feels like he’s gotten the senior prom experience of a teenage girl’s dream; only with the added bonus that he knows there will be _good_ alcohol and he’ll get to drink it without fear of chaperones.

 

“Alright,” Darcy says at last. “You’re a queen.”

 

“Hell yeah,” Steve agrees, turning to look in the mirror. “I’m so getting banged tonight.”

 

Darcy laughs behind him. Steve spritzes his face with setting spray one last time, waits for it to dry before looking again. His lips are a bold, matte wine red, a brand new liquid lipstick he’d gotten from MAC that the girl at the sales counter claimed would survive a blowjob untouched. Steve’s positive he’ll be testing that theory soon if not that night. His cheekbones, nose, and the curve of his brow are glowing with an iridescent highlighter from Tarte that gives an otherworldly gleam when the light hits it just right. His eyes, though, are his favorite. Darcy painted his lids with a perfect rosy cut crease with a palette by Too Faced, his lids are lightened with an ivory glitter pigment from Urban Decay, his lashes look huge with mascara from MILK and false extensions from Velor. He’s got perfect wings, lined with a bright red glitter from Urban Decay that she’s brought under his eye with a touch more shadow to exaggerate his lower lashes.

 

“You are so getting banged tonight,” Darcy agrees. “And not just because I made you look better than sex.”

 

“Nah,” Steve says, leaning back. “You mind waiting downstairs so I can put on my lingerie?”

 

“What, like I ain’t seen you naked not even an hour ago?” Darcy counters, hip checking him as she takes up space in the mirror next to him. “What are you really doing?”

 

“Putting in a butt plug,” Steve says with a grin. “Sir’s orders.”

 

“Kinky,” Darcy laughs. “Aight, I’ll be downstairs, hot lips.”

 

“Thanks, sugartits!” Steve calls after her as she leaves.

 

He heads for the bedroom, shutting the door behind her, then carefully lays out the lingerie set he’s going to wear under his suit. The small, vibrating plug Bucky wants him to wear is in the top drawer of his dresser. Steve takes it and a bottle of lube, then lies down on the bed, his lingerie set carefully off to the side, and takes the time to open himself up enough to insert the plug. He is dutiful about his rules and doesn’t touch his dick as he does it, even though he very much wants to.

 

It takes him about five minutes, and when he’s done, Steve cleans himself up in the bathroom before getting dressed. He’s got classy, fifties-style lingerie from Agent Provocateur; making him feel more like a Hollywood burlesque dancer than a Brooklyn slut. It’s all red satin with black lace trim, there’s a lined triangle bralette with a little bow in the center that actually comes undone to reveal the clasp holding it closed. He’s wearing fitted panties, again with a bow just above the bulge of his junk. He has on a high-waisted garter belt that’s cut just high enough to reveal his navel piercing, it’s holding up nearly clear thigh high pantyhose with black lace detailing the top band and a line running down the backs of his legs to the black sole of the foot.

 

It’s a bitch to get the line straight, and Steve finds himself struggling so much he ends up giving up and opening the door.

 

“Hey, sugartits!” he yells down the stairs. “Come help me with these damn pantyhose!”

 

“Coming, sweetums!” Darcy calls back, laughing.

 

Steve steps back from the door, walking back into the bathroom and looking over his shoulder with a pout at his pantyhose. He hears Darcy laughing as she enters the room and turns back, walking over to her.

 

“I’ve got tell Bucky to get a proper mirror in here,” he complains, then stops. “What is that?”

 

Darcy holds up the long, black bag in her hands. “It’s your suit,” she giggles.

 

“Where did you get it?” Steve questions.

 

Darcy bursts into laughter all over again. “From your sugar daddy!”

 

Steve almost slaps a hand over his mouth but stops himself at the last second to preserve his makeup. He grabs his ears instead. “Bucky’s downstairs?” he hisses.

 

“Yup!” Darcy says. “I’m dying!”

 

She thrusts the suit bag at him and collapses onto the bed. Steve runs to shut the bedroom door, then presses to it as if the hounds of Hell are on the other side, all vying to get in.

 

“OhmygodBuckyjustheardmecallyousugartits,” he says in a rushed gasp.

 

“Yup!” Darcy howls.

 

“This is your fault!” Steve affirms, lifting off of the door and carefully laying the suit bag on the bed.

 

“Sugartits!” Darcy wheezes.

 

Steve kicks her. He’s not wearing shoes, so it does little.

 

“Fix my pantyhose,” he demands.

 

Darcy spills off the bed into a wheezing puddle on the floor. “I called you sweetums!” she gets out breathily. Steve hardly hears her. “He walked in, you yelled, and I just responded! With sweetums!”

 

“Oh, my god,” Steve says, then laughs. “Oh, fuck you, Darce. Fix my pantyhose already, will you?”

 

Darcy gets onto her knees and Steve stands with his butt in her face. She’s still laughing.

 

“Literally,” she says, “he got off the elevator, I waved awkwardly and started to say my name, then you fucking yell _hey, sugartits!_ and I don’t even think before I open my mouth. Your boyfriend’s gonna hate me.”

 

“Then he can stuff it up his ass,” Steve says firmly. “Amex black card or no Amex black card, either he likes you or we ain’t working out.”

 

“Aw, thanks, hot lips,” Darcy coos. Then she slaps him on the ass and Steve yelps, the plug jolting both uncomfortably and pleasurably in his ass. “You’re good.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve says, then picks up the suit bag. “You wanna help?”

 

“What else have I been doing?” she demands, then takes it from him and holds it steady so he can unzip it. “Wow,” she murmurs as Steve takes it out.

 

“Wow’s, right,” Steve says, laying out the pieces of the suit.

 

The jacket and the pants are both crisp velvet, deep red and black in its shadows. The lapel of the jacket is trimmed in a less saturated, flat red fabric, making the velvet pop more. There’s a pale silver brocade pocket square tucked in the breast pocket, which, like the lapel, has the lighter red trimming it. The cuffs of the jacket have five squared, glossy black buttons and the jacket itself has subtle darts that will exaggerate the V of his figure. The ankles of the pants are tastefully rolled, showing the same slightly less saturated red with careful stitching; they’ll make Steve’s holographic heels look even better. Touching the cuffs of the pants reveals that it’s probably lined in silk, which Steve is so glad for, considering he’s wearing expensive pantyhose. There’s a wine red waistcoat with lighter brocade that matches the pocket square and a pale silver shirt, both silk. There’s no tie, but the collar of his shirt is slim and clearly meant to be worn open, which leaves Steve curious. It looks like the blouse out one of those vintage Omega pantsuits from the 50s, not a modern man’s dress shirt.

 

“You’re gonna look like a whole ass drag queen,” Darcy says.

 

“I’m here for that,” Steve says, taking the shirt and pulling it on. It fits like a glove.

 

After putting on the pants, he finds a black leather belt, polished and very high quality, and he slips that around his waist. Darcy fetches cufflinks for him, white gold princess cut squares, helping him put them on since he’d never worn cufflinks before. He puts diamond earrings, a round stone framed by white gold, into his earlobes and a smaller diamond stud in his cartilage. He slips on the waistcoat, buttons it, and dons the jacket. Lastly, Darcy puts on his shoes, fastening the ankle band for him.

 

“You ready to go give your sugar daddy to have a heart attack?” Darcy asks him, grinning.

 

“Hell yes,” Steve says, standing. He gives his hair a touch, checks that his makeup is still perfect, and takes Darcy’s arm to leave the room.

 

“Yoo-hoo!” Darcy yells as they near the stairs. “Cinderella’s ready for the ball!”

 

“Stuff a cock in it, Darce,” Steve tells her, taking the handrail of the stairs. She just laughs at him.

 

His stomach is filled with butterflies. Strange, he thinks absently as he takes the stairs. He’s been dating Bucky for a month and has worn more daring things around him, but a simple suit – though damn elegant – has him tied up in nerves. He’s lucky his legs aren’t trembling; his hands are.

 

Bucky is standing in the foyer, hands folded in front of him and a smile on his face. Steve grins as he steps off the stairs and pointedly checks him out; his tux is entirely black, but the jacket is a glossy material that almost glitters, and the skinny tie and pocket square match the red of Steve’s suit. His hair is smoothed back, almost oiled, and the silver at his temples gleams. He’d trimmed his facial hair, not shaving but taking it back to the ruggedly handsome look he’d had the night they’d met.

 

“You clean up nice,” Steve says, reaching up to fiddle with his tie.

 

“You look stunning,” Bucky answers. Then he holds out his hand and Steve notices the long, velvet box he’s holding. “For you, dragă mea.”

 

“You seriously –?” Steve starts, then laughs. He takes it and cracks the lid, then his jaw drops. “Bucky!”

 

Darcy peers over his shoulder. Her eyes get very, very big.

 

“That is a lot of shiny,” she says dumbly.

 

It’s a diamond choker. It’s a flat, half-inch tall choker, with _five rows of diamonds_ covering the length of it. Five rows of small, princess cut diamonds. There’s a heart-shaped pendant hanging from a teardrop diamond link in the center, both, presumably, white gold. The heart is simply engraved with _JBB_ in elegant script, the letters almost black with shadow in the flat of the pendant.

 

“You realize that I’m only going to wear this the one time,” Steve says, looking up at Bucky with wide eyes.

 

Bucky gives a shrug. “Well, I figured you could wear it to any black tie event I take you to.”

 

Steve drops his jaw again. He looks back at the _five rows_ of tiny but _flawless_ diamonds and just looks at it, at a loss for words.

 

“You gonna thank me?” Bucky asks mischievously.

 

Steve carefully lifts it from the box. He hands the box to Darcy, who takes a step back. Steve takes Bucky’s hand and places the choker in his palm, then turns around, waiting. Bucky pulls the necklace around his neck, fastens it, and smooths his hands over Steve’s shoulders. One hand takes his waist, pulling him closer, and the other retracts from him.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve says quietly.

 

Bucky kisses his ear. Then Steve figures out where his other hand went as the plug in his ass bursts into life. He half yelps, half gasps, and Bucky laughs before turning it off.

 

“Kinky,” Darcy remarks.

 

“Oh!” Steve says, pulling away from Bucky as he’d forgotten she was even there. “Uh, you didn’t get a chance to introduce yourselves. Buck, this is Darcy, my best friend.”

 

“I gathered that,” Bucky says, his eyes twinkling.

 

“Hi,” Darcy says, waving. “I know who you are, obviously.”

 

“You sent that video earlier,” Bucky says then, his smile growing again. “I’d like to thank you.”

 

Darcy gives a dismissive sound and waves a hand. “It was nothing,” she says. Her ears are pink. “Steve’s had the same passcode on his phone for the past four years, anyway, he’s just asking for trouble like that.”

 

“I’ll see if I can encourage him to update his security,” Bucky says. He grips Steve’s shoulder briefly, then steps toward Darcy and holds out his hand. “Thank you for coming out today, I know Steve really appreciated it.”

 

“Oh, he did,” Darcy promises. She shakes Bucky’s hand and it’s an awkwardly stiff gesture. “Right. Um. His curfew is one A.M. and you’d better not bring him home drunk.”

 

Steve groans and Bucky laughs.

 

“Only mildly tipsy, I promise,” Bucky answers her. “It was nice meeting you, Darcy.”

 

“It was good to meet you, too,” Darcy agrees. She side-steps and Steve shoots her a smile. “I’d better go,” she adds, “I have absolutely nothing to do tonight, seeing as I’m now somebody’s secretary, nine to five starting Monday.”

 

Steve grins and hugs her, careful of his hair and makeup but tightly nonetheless. “Thank you, Darce,” he says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

“Walk around with crooked pantyhose, apparently,” she says.

 

Steve laughs and pats her cheek, watching as she steps onto the elevator. He waves and she wiggles her fingers back.

 

“Have a good time, hot lips!” she calls just before the doors shut.

 

“Thanks, sugartits!” Steve answers with a laugh.

 

Darcy winks and the doors shut. Steve reaches up and touches the pendant hanging over the dip of his clavicle. Bucky takes his waist.

 

“Are you ready to go, dragă?” he asks.

 

“I think so,” Steve says. “Lemme get my phone and my ID.”

 

Bucky nods, then bends and kisses his cheek lightly. Steve turns and catches his lips in a quick kiss, then takes the stairs, careful with his heels. His phone and ID acquired, he stops to pick up the signet ring before he returns to the foyer.

 

“Here,” he says, holding it out. “Thank you for letting me steal it.”

 

Bucky takes the ring and slips it onto his left hand. “Thank you for wearing it,” he counters, then takes Steve by the waist an draws him in. “You look good in diamonds,” he murmurs.

 

“Savor the memory,” Steve tells him. “I ain’t wearing these to anything less than the Oscars in the future.”

 

“Guess I’ll just have to get tickets,” Bucky says with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _to the gala! i'll see you in a few hours with chapter 21, **clever as the devil and twice as pretty**. ttyl_
> 
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	21. clever as the devil and twice as pretty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _happy halloweeeeeeeeeen!! i'm hanging out with my gf tonight and i'm dressed up like a broken porcelain doll. i can do creepy voices, yes. y'all stay safe and have fun!_

##  _clever as the devil and twice as pretty_

  


_“It’s a lovely November evening here in Midtown, we’re watching the arrivals of Tony Stark’s guests to his annual Anniversary Gala. This year, Mr. Stark’s gala benefits the Coalition for the Homeless, a New York-based organization that supports the homeless population of our great city. If you’re just joining us, welcome! We’ve seen several celebrity guests arrive already; New York Mayor Thaddeus Ross, Doctor Bruce Banner – a personal friend of Tony Stark’s – CEO of Facebook Mark Zuckerberg, humanitarians such as Amal Clooney and her husband, even the Gates. Those of you who follow music or film circles, there’s actors such as Thor and Loki Odinson, the cast of Justice League and the cast of Ocean’s 8 in attendance, icons like Cher, Madonna, the Queen of Rap Nicki Minaj, other music stars like Drake, Cardi B, Kendrick Lamar and Ariana Grande. Even Beyoncé with her baby bump is rumored to be attending tonight, and the night’s barely beginning – Here’s Mr. Stark’s next guest now, I don’t know who this is, Katie, but it’s a very stylish limo – Wait, that’s – That’s CEO of Seyrbakov Corp., James Barnes! Seyrbakov Corporations is one of the U.S.’s top Fortune 500 companies despite its mythical connections to the Russian mafia, James Barnes is one of the richest men in the U.S., but he **never** comes to any red carpet event he’s invited to, he doesn’t even attend events hosted by his own company! Here he is at the Stark Industries Anniversary Gala, and the ladies clearly love a bad boy – Wait, he’s got a date. Katie, are you seeing this? I don’t even know if that’s a man or a woman, James Barnes is here at Stark Industries’ gala with a date – Okay, Katie tells me this is the same man who was seen with Barnes leaving his apartment tower earlier this month, it is a man, but who is he?” _

 

*

 

Steve manages not to blink like a deer in headlights as he exits the limo and steps onto a genuine red carpet. Cameras are flashing in his face and there are voices talking over each other everywhere. Velvet ropes hold back hoards of media and presumably fans of whoever is in attendance. The red carpet extends up to a set of stairs into Stark Tower, where men and women in suits bow the guests inside.

 

Bucky tucks his hand into his elbow, his face stoney in the flashing of the cameras. Natasha and Clint exit behind Steve, the both of them wearing tasteful but basic gray suits for the event. They’re Bucky’s security for the night, which Steve should have anticipated. The two of them step off to the side as Bucky guides Steve a step forward and pauses, letting the cameras photograph them. Steve takes his cue from Bucky and leaves his face impassive, not looking at any of the cameras. Bucky pauses for barely five seconds, then begins a brisk walk. Steve, despite his massive heels, matches his pace easily. Natasha and Clint fall into step behind them and the doors to the building are opened for them.

 

Steve catches bits and pieces of reporters going mad over Bucky’s presence, but half of them keep asking the same question and the greedy attention whore inside him that had been born out of his bullied childhood and bitter coming of age is swelling with satisfaction.

 

_“Mr. Barnes, who’s your date?” “Who is Barnes’ date tonight?” “Who is he?” “Who is he?” “Who –”_

 

Steve steps over the threshold into the entryway of Stark Tower. Ushers bow as they open a second set of doors. More ushers appear and walk with them down the roped-off carpet surrounded by further press that they ignore, leading them further into the building. The ushers open elegant gold and glass doors leading into a gilded ballroom and bow as they enter.

 

“Welcome to Stark Industries Anniversary Gala,” the ushers bid them.

 

Steve lets out a quiet sound of awe as he looks around the impressive, Neo-Gothic architecture of the room. The ballroom is built almost like an atrium, with massively arched ceilings that have mirrors instead of skylights set in spiraling patterns, mimicking mandalas and Art Nouveau. The way they are set, every corner of the room is illuminated so not a single shadow lurks in the ballroom. There are aquariums set throughout the sides of the room and flanking the distant stage, rectangles that Steve guesses match the dimensions of the room perfectly. Set in the Corinthian columns supporting the ceiling in a long rectangle aren’t eagles or gargoyles, but steampunk-esque sculpted gears.

 

Bucky is still walking, but Steve is looking at the ceiling. With a double take, he recognizes that the mirrors are arranged and cut to mimic gears as well. In fact, the whole room is a machine. The crown moldings in the ceilings are designed to appear as pistons and screws in the glass, the high reliefs on the walls are focused over the aquariums like water pumps, the columns are steam stacks or flow regulators. Centering the arched ceiling is a massive crystal chandelier, hanging twenty feet above the ground and with – Steve counts them – twenty-two filigreed metal posts anchoring it to the ceiling, matching the twenty-two columns lining the room; four on the ends and seven on the sides. He wouldn’t be surprised if the room fit the golden ratio.

 

“The room makes up the mechanism,” Steve murmurs.

 

“What?” Bucky says, leaning down.

 

Steve subtly points. “The architecture makes a power generator, and the chandelier is the lightbulb.”

 

Bucky looks up. “I never noticed.”

 

“Look, the mirrors set in the ceiling are positioned both to be the gears and to reflect the light,” Steve says. “And the aquariums are meant to be what generates the electricity. The water would flow through the pumps; the reliefs on the walls, they’re the pumps, then the water would move the gears like a mill, then that movement would generate electricity to power the chandelier. It’s very clever.”

 

“Thank you very much!”

 

Steve drops his gaze from the ceiling. Tony Stark has stopped just in front of them, wearing rose-tinted sunglasses indoors.

 

“Who designed it?” Steve asks.

 

“I did,” Stark answers. He looks up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “People usually don’t see that the mirrors are water wheels. People don’t usually look, even.”

 

“That’s a shame,” Steve tells him, looking up as well. “The aquariums, including the water source like that, that’s inspired.”

 

“Thank you,” Stark says. He looks at Steve and squints. “You’re the kid from brunch, aren’t you? Stan or something?”

 

“Or something,” Steve says flatly.

 

Stark winces a little behind his sunglasses. “Forgive me,” he says, sticking out his hand. “Tony Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Steve takes it and shakes firmly. “Steve Rogers,” he answers.

 

“Steve,” Stark says, covering Steve’s hand with his other and holding onto it for a moment longer. “I’m assuming I have you to thank for dragging Barnes out of his safe space at last.”

 

“I think it was an excuse to buy me diamonds,” Steve answers sarcastically, reaching up and touching the diamond collar around his neck. He sees Bucky rolling his eyes from the edges of his vision.

 

“He is strangely fond of shiny things,” Stark says, smiling. “A bit like a magpie.”

 

Steve smiles back and pulls his hand from Stark’s grip, curling it over Bucky’s elbow. “More like a dragon,” he replies. “Magpies collect worthless treasure.”

 

Or they attempt to collect real treasure. The magpies of Brass Fang are behind bars thanks to Bucky’s dragon-like greed and wolfish possessiveness.

 

“A fair point,” Stark agrees. He turns and holds out his hand to Bucky. “Glad to have you, Smaug.”

 

“Ha, ha,” Bucky says. “Where’s the booze, Stark?”

 

“Where it always is!” Stark replies with a laugh. “Of course, you would know where _that_ is if you ever came to one of my shindigs. Bar’s that way.”

 

He points to the far right end of the room, where an extensive bar is built around one of the aquariums. Steve glances over, but is distracted by the profiles of Harry Styles and Lorde passing them. He blinks and thinks that Darcy’s going to die when he tells her how the gala went in the morning.

 

“Excuse us, then,” Bucky says, pulling Steve away.

 

“How about I just go with you?” Stark poses. “You seem to enjoy my company so much.”

 

“Why else would we be here?” Bucky sighs.

 

“Naturally,” Stark says. “Where’s Klaue?”

 

“Currently?” Bucky counters, then shrugs. “I think Guyana.”

 

“And what is he doing in Guyana?” Stark demands while Steve wonders where Guyana even _is._

 

“Familiarizing himself with the black piranha,” Bucky answers.

 

Stark claps Bucky on the shoulder. “Good man,” he says happily. “I owe you.”

 

“You do,” Bucky says simply, looking straight ahead with a straight face. “When the family needs you, we’ll call.”

 

Stark gives a nod. He looks surprisingly calm for acknowledging that he owes the Bratva. “And when _you_ need me, call,” he adds firmly.

 

Bucky lifts a single brow briefly. Steve’s attention is caught by familiar dreadlocks near the bar. He slips his hand from Bucky’s elbow, glances at Bucky to see he’s still talking to Stark, and nears.

 

Steve taps Killmonger on the shoulder. He turns, then immediately goes sour-faced as he and Steve meet eyes.

 

“What are you doing here?” Erik demands.

 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Steve counters. “How’d you get in?”

 

“We were invited,” T’Challa answers simply, walking up with a glass of whiskey in hand. “You look very lovely this evening, Steven.”

 

Steve flicks his eyebrows up and that’s all he does to thank him. “Was Black Panther invited or were the Black Panthers invited?”

 

“My sister was invited,” T’Challa answers, cutting Erik off from saying something. “She’s off chatting to some girl group, Fifth Harmony? We tagged along since she’s underage.”

 

Steve nods, then Erik crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“What about you?” he asks coldly.

 

“I’m Barnes’s plus one,” Steve says simply, then reaches up and flicks the pendant hanging over his clavicle. “He stole one of your hos, remember?”

 

T’Challa sighs softly, then takes a long drink from his whiskey. Erik glances at his feet, looking like he’d much rather be anywhere but there, then glances up at Steve, briefly making eye contact before returning his gaze to the ground between him and Stee.

 

“Look,” he says, “I’m sorry I said that.”

 

“Really?” Steve says, startled.

 

“Yeah, it was uncalled for,” Erik mutters.

 

Steve glances at T’Challa. T’Challa shrugs.

 

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. “Um. Thanks? For apologizing, I guess?”

 

“I didn’t know you got caught up in Fang when you was still a kid,” Erik continues. “I should’a, but I guess – Nobody thought too hard about it. Fang’s out of business now.”

 

“I know,” Steve answers, softening.

 

Nobody wanted to look at his young face and see that he really was so young, so they didn’t. It was easy to think that child prostitution just didn’t happen anymore. It was easier to assume the kid in front of you looks barely eighteen because they’re eighteen and a day, not seventeen and five months. He felt a lot older than he was when he finally hit eighteen, and he’s a lot older in spirit now than he really is in body. Erik looks ashamed, and even T’Challa, who didn’t immigrate to the states until more than a year after Steve met Erik six years ago, looks apologetic. Steve doesn’t hold it against them. No one looked. Hell, _Steve_ hadn’t looked.

 

“Barnes rehired most of the girls, I heard,” Steve says, trying to move on.

 

“We took several women in as well,” T’Challa tells him. “Barnes is turning the warehouse into a rehab center.”

 

Steve gives a nod. “Do you know –”

 

“Who got locked up?” Erik asks, raising his eyebrows. “Rollins and most of his boys. A few girls got picked up for possession or parole violations, but they got light sentences mostly.”

 

“I would be careful,” T’Challa says abruptly. He transfers his whiskey to the other hand and grips Steve’s shoulder, grips it hard. “There were rumors that you were asked to perform a favor on behalf of Fang just before it was disbanded.”

 

“Word is you got asked to pop Barnes,” Erik says.

 

Steve maintains a steely expression, standing up as straight as his crooked spine will let him. He nods, waiting for them to go on.

 

“Under the circumstances, cuz and I ain’t gonna do nothing,” Erik tells him, then raises his eyes in a warning. “But not everybody’s your friend, and nobody likes a snitch, Stevie.”

 

“I ain’t worried,” Steve answers. He touches his necklace again, almost without meaning to. “Barnes will protect me.”

 

“You were asked, then?” T’Challa murmurs.

 

Steve looks him in the eye, then adjusts his stance, tips his head to one side, narrows his eyes.

 

“Why would anybody think the vulnerable, starving hooker swept off his feet by a much richer man would bite the hand that feeds him?” he asks.

 

T’Challa eyes him evenly. Steve slips his hands into his pockets and tips his head to the other side.

 

“Obviously, anyone in my position would be lovestruck,” he says.

 

T’Challa considers this, his eyes narrowing. “Obviously,” he muses carefully after a moment.

 

“Not to mention, someone of my background would be particularly impressionable,” Steve adds with a gesture. “Barnes is a very influential man, he charmed Aleksei Seyrbakov into choosing him as a successor, after all. He’d obviously be able to manipulate someone like me into falling for him. It would be too risky to ask anyone in my position to do something so important as assassinating the head of the Seyrbakov family. What if I thought that it was an opportunity to further my position in Barnes’s affections? It would be easy for a kid like me to not see any of the consequences, only the fact that he was finally receiving the love and attention he’d been denied as a child.”

 

“It would be foolish to ask anything like that of you,” T’Challa agrees.

 

“I’m glad you see my point,” Steve tells him.

 

“Indeed,” T’Challa answers, then squeezes his shoulder. “In fact, I would go so far as to say such a proposition for someone in your position would be laughable. Clearly, Rollins and his men would rule out asking you to eliminate Barnes.”

 

Steve gives a nod.

 

“What the fuck just happened?” Erik asks, looking between them.

 

“An understanding,” T’Challa says, releasing Steve’s shoulder to look at Erik. “And anyone who asks if our friend here did turn on Brass Fang so grievously will see our point, cousin.”

 

“No fool would ask me to kill my sugar daddy,” Steve says bluntly.

 

Erik glances between them, then slowly nods. “No fool would ask that,” he agrees.

 

“And we shall say so to anyone who asks,” T’Challa says, swapping his glass into the other hand and clapping Erik on the shoulder. “Shan’t we?”

 

“Yeah,” Erik says, nodding to Steve. “Us girl-boys gotta stick together.”

 

Steve feels a surge of affection for Killmonger. He sticks out his hand and Erik takes it, pumping it firmly once before pulling him into a hug. Steve claps his shoulder but Erik taps his lighter, probably remembering the night Steve had nearly passed out from an asthma attack a few years back. For all their bickering, Steve thinks, Erik is not his enemy. Perhaps not his friend, either, but brothers would often outwardly dislike each other in favor of a deeper bond. As Erik had said, they girl-boys had to stick together.

 

“I’m glad you see it my way, boys,” Steve says as Erik pulls back.

 

“Of course,” T’Challa replies.

 

“The bar free or what?” Steve asks then, looking at the whiskey in T’Challa’s hand.

 

“It would be free,” T’Challa says, then drains his glass before offering his elbow to Steve. “Shall I escort you?”

 

Steve shrugs. “Why not,” he says and takes T’Challa’s elbow.

 

Erik, surprising him, sticks out his elbow, too. “Gotta look chummy for the cameras,” he says.

 

Steve laughs and takes it. “Of course.”

 

“And if Barnes gets mad, it was your idea,” Erik adds.

 

“Sure,” Steve says, smirking, “I’ll enjoy being punished.”

 

Erik raises his eyebrows. “Knew you was a kinky shit, Rogers.”

 

“Naturally,” Steve agrees. He sees Bucky leaning on the bar and lifts the hand tucked in T’Challa’s elbow to wave a finger at him. “There he is.”

 

“A thought,” T’Challa says as Bucky raises his eyebrows at Steve from across the bar. “If you were ever to need sanctuary, Steven, there is a place for you in our house.”

 

“Thank you for that,” Steve tells him, watching Bucky reaching into his pocket. “I appreciate it.”

 

“Of course,” T’Challa says.

 

Just as they reach the bar, Steve’s anal plug begins vibrating. Steve takes a deep breath and schools his features, resisting the urge to curl his toes in his heels. He meets Bucky’s gaze again and smirks; Bucky raises his eyebrows again. He leans an elbow on the bar, a whiskey glass dangling from his hand, and raises his empty hand to curl a finger in his direction.

 

“I’ve been summoned,” Steve says.

 

“Then we shall deliver you,” T’Challa replies.

 

“This is gonna be fun,” Erik adds.

 

Steve laughs at them. It was going to be fun, but for who?

 

Bucky stands up straight as they near. Steve slips from between the Black Panthers and stretches out his hand; Bucky takes it and pulls him in, raising his hand and kissing the back of it before taking his waist. Steve leans into him, and the plug’s vibration increases. He takes another deep breath, grounding himself.

 

“Gentlemen,” Bucky greets the Black Panthers.

 

“Good evening,” T’Challa says.

 

Erik flashes a peace sign with a flat expression. Steve smiles a little.

 

“We were just discussing the fate of Steven’s previous employers,” T’Challa says, casually raising his arms and crossing his fists in front of his chest.

 

Bold of him, both to bring this up with Bucky so casually and to use a gang sign in the middle of a red carpet event, Steve thinks absently.

 

“Shame about them,” Bucky agrees.

 

Erik gives a glance around, then steps closer. “Look, I can guess how the Russians play, but the ‘hood really don’t like snitches. Keep an eye on that kid or you’ll still have to worry about Brass Fang.”

 

Bucky’s fingers curl a little tighter around Steve’s waist. “Do you really think I wouldn’t consider that, Killmonger?” he asks dryly.

 

“Seyrbakov’s sons got cocky,” Erik says. “Ain’t much of a stretch to guess you might head their way.”

 

“Good thing I ain’t one of Seyrbakov’s sons,” Bucky answers, then raises his glass, tips it in Erik’s direction and drains it. He puts it on the counter, then raps his knuckles against the fine grain mahogany.

 

As he does, Steve bites the inside of his cheek. The plug’s vibrations are nearing too much, and he taps three fingers against Bucky’s back.

 

Bucky reaches into his pocket casually and the vibrations cut out. They had discussed non-verbal signals in the car, and by tapping three fingers together against Bucky’s thigh, he had indicated that his number had reached three. Steve exhales carefully, then inhales again. He leans his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“A drink, gentlemen?” Bucky asks the Black Panthers.

 

“How kind of you,” Erik remarks wryly. “Buyin’ a nigga a drink at an open bar.”

 

“Not like I’ll ever have the opportunity to do so again,” Bucky answers with equal dry wit.

 

A bartender nears and Bucky waves to have his glass refilled. T’Challa places his glass on the counter and murmurs for the same.

 

“What’ll it be?” Bucky asks Erik.

 

“I’m guessin’ there’s no Bud Light,” Erik says.

 

“No, sir,” the bartender answers.

 

“Same as them,” Erik decides.

 

Bucky’s not paying attention to them. He turns and slips a finger under Steve’s chin, tilting it up to look him in the eye. “What do you wanna drink, doll?”

 

“Vodka martini,” Steve says. “Dry.”

 

The bartender has just filled three glasses with an expensive looking bourbon as Bucky turns back and repeats Steve’s order. They nod, bow their head, and start mixing the drink.

 

“Classy,” Erik remarks.

 

“I try,” Steve answers wryly.

 

Erik flicks his eyebrows up and takes a swig of his drink. T’Challa takes a more dignified sip and Bucky holds his drink in hand without looking at it, watching the bartender mix Steve’s martini.

 

“Where’d you get that getup?” Erik asks, gesturing to Steve’s suit with his whiskey glass.

 

“Bespoke,” Steve says, tipping his head towards Bucky.

 

“Right,” Erik laughs. “Of course.”

 

Steve smirks and shrugs a shoulder. The bartender places his martini on the counter and walks away. Bucky hands it to him and Steve takes a small sip, then plucks the cocktail pick from his drink and pops one of the olives into his mouth.

 

“This has been sufficiently awkward,” Erik announces. “Barnes, always a pleasure to threaten you. Rogers, _you_ can suck _my_ dick this time. Peace.”

 

Steve smiles warmly and flips him off as he leaves. T’Challa slowly sighs and sets his drink on the bar to stick out his hand.

 

“As they say,” he says, “my cousin has no filter. Good evening.”

 

Bucky has to release Steve’s waist to shake T’Challa’s hand, much like the morning the Black Panthers had visited Bucky’s penthouse. Steve is sensing a pattern.

 

“Always a pleasure to be threatened by him,” Bucky says with a slightly condescending smile. “It’s cute.”

 

T’Challa gives him a smile that seems false despite it reaching his eyes. As Bucky releases his hands, T’Challa passes his palms together, like he’s wiping his hand off, and offers it to Steve instead.

 

“Good evening, Steven,” T’Challa bades him.

 

Steve gives him a nod. T’Challa doesn’t pass his palms together as he leaves.

 

“I’ve changed my mind,” Bucky says in Steve’s ear, the both of them watching T’Challa’s back retreating, “you can deal with them for me by yourself.”

 

“I’m okay with that,” Steve says with a nod.

 

“They’re serving dinner soon,” Bucky adds. “We should find our table.”

 

“Is it assigned seating?” Steve asks, looking up at him.

 

Bucky gives a nod, then smiles dryly. “Stark apparently found it funny to put us next to a police captain.”

 

“Oh,” Steve laughs. “Oh, that is funny.”

 

“Fella’s on my payroll, anyway,” Bucky says.

 

He holds out his elbow and Steve takes it, lifting his cocktail to his lips and taking another sip as he does.

 

“You must think you’re funny, too,” Bucky adds and Steve looks at him. Bucky raises his eyebrows pointedly. “Arming up with the Black Panthers like that.”

 

“Pssh,” Steve replies, giving his drink a little wave, “that was harmless. I wasn’t even flirting.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky says. “That wasn’t flirting?”

 

“I wasn’t flirting,” Steve promises, grinning. “Sorry, Daddy.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve smirks to himself and looks ahead; Taylor Swift passes them, her eyebrows very high on her head. Steve’s okay with that.

 

“Here,” Bucky says as he stops at a table near the stage. He pulls out a chair and Steve hands him his drink to sit down. Bucky placed both their drinks on the table and pushed his chair in for him, then sat on his right.

 

“We’re not going to mingle?” Steve asks, looking at Bucky.

 

“Mingling is after dinner,” Bucky says. He looks at his place setting and sighs. “I still don’t know which damn fork to use.”

 

Steve looks down, then pulls out his phone and Googles it. “Go from the outside in,” he says.

 

“Why the fuck I need four forks, anyway,” Bucky grumbles, picking up his drink.

 

Steve has a text from Darcy, asking how the night’s going so far. He looks up, scanning the room while he thinks, then answers her.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_Ran into the Panthers. Called Bucky daddy and Taylor swift heard me. Always fun to scare a normie._

 

He puts his phone back inside his jacket and picks up his martini, taking a careful sip. Then he picks up the cocktail pick and eats another olive. Bucky throws an arm over the back of his chair. Steve puts down his drink and shifts his chair closer to put his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“How soon is dinner?” he asks.

 

Bucky checks his watch, looking over Steve’s head to do it. “Supposedly, fifteen minutes.”

 

Steve gives a satisfied nod. “Entertain me, Buck.”

 

Bucky laughs. “Entertain you?” he repeats.

 

Steve waves a vague hand. “Entertain me,” he repeats. Then he puts his elbows on the table and props his chin up on a fist, looking at Bucky. “Second date stuff. Go.”

 

“I’d like it acknowledged that this is one hell of a second date,” Bucky says. “And, really, we ought’a count me taking you to dinner Monday and lunch on Tuesday.”

 

“Okay, fourth date stuff,” Steve says. “What’s your deepest regret?”

 

“Is that fourth date stuff?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know, I’ve never been on a fourth date.”

 

Bucky exhales heavily. He puts a hand on the back of Steve’s neck and pulls him in to kiss his forehead, then lays his arm back over the back of his chair. “Neither have I, dragă.”

 

Steve looks up at him. “We’re sure a pair.”

 

“Maybe,” Bucky says, tipping his head to the side to smile at him. “Sunt mulțumit de asta.”

 

Steve pouts at him. “Don’t be mean to me, Daddy.”

 

“I can be mean to you,” Bucky answers, his smile turning into a smirk. “I’m allowed to be mean to my slut.”

 

Steve pouts harder. Bucky laughs, then kisses his forehead again. “Mă amuză,” he says.

 

“Mean,” Steve mutters.

 

“Biet bebelus,” Bucky says, still smirking at him.

 

“Something baby,” Steve guesses.

 

“Very good,” Bucky answers; his eyes crinkle at the corner and Steve beams, less for the praise and more for the way Bucky’s smiling at him. “Biet bebelus is poor baby.”

 

“How do you say _fuck you?_ ” Steve asks.

 

Bucky snorts. “Futu-te,” he says.

 

“Futu-te,” Steve repeats, though clumsier.

 

“If you’d like to,” Bucky chuckles. “Aș prefera să te futu. Cocoșul tău este prea mic.”

 

“I give up,” Steve says, looking away.

 

Bucky kisses his temple. “Suge pula mea mai târziu, ce zici de asta?”

 

“I give up,” Steve repeats.

 

“Sloboziti-as fata,” Bucky coos.

 

“Whatever you’re saying, I know you’re just gonna do whatever you want to anyway,” Steve says simply.

 

Bucky laughs again. “You’re right,” he agrees. “I was telling you that you could suck me later and I’d come on your face.”

 

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” Steve tells him, patting his cheek. “You really know how to treat a girl.”

 

Bucky laughs, pulls his hand away and kisses it. Steve rolls his eyes and drops his hands into his lap, smiling at his plate.

 

“Oh, here we go,” Bucky says and Steve looks up. Two people are approaching the table; a woman in a classic red evening gown that washes out her pale skin and a lean dark-skinned man wearing a police dress uniform. “Captain Wilson, always good to see you.”

 

“Barnes!” Captain Wilson responds, spreading his hands and grinning a gap-toothed grin. “I heard you’d shown up.”

 

Bucky stands up and shook hands with the police captain. Steve smiles, thinking how fucking stereotypical it is that Captain Wilson is crooked. The only thing that would have made it worse – or better, depending on how he looked at it – would have been if Wilson was white.

 

“This is my date for the evening,” Wilson says, taking the elbow of the woman with him, “the lovely Agent Hill of the FBI.”

 

“James Barnes,” Bucky says, offering his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Likewise,” Agent Hill says happily, shaking it.

 

Steve takes a drink from his martini instead of laughing about how none of these people should be even remotely cordial with one another.

 

“This is my partner, Steve Rogers,” Bucky says then and Steve quickly puts down his drink to smile and wave.

 

“Good to meet you, Steve,” Wilson says, offering a hand to him. “I’m Sam.”

 

“Hi,” Steve says, taking his hand and shaking it.

 

“Hi,” Agent Hill adds, “you can call me Maria.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Steve says, pulling back.

 

Bucky sits again as Wilson draws out a chair for Hill.

 

“I love your makeup,” Hill says, folding her hands on the table. “It’s amazing that you’re comfortable enough to wear it.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve says and leaves it there since there’s not much else he can say in response to that.

 

“Where did you get that lipstick?” Maria asks. “I notice it didn’t leave any residue on your glass.”

 

“Oh, it’s from MAC,” Steve says. “Uh, the Retro Matte, I think.”

 

“Oh, that explains it,” Hill answers. “I hear their liquid lipsticks are really long lasting.”

 

“I’ve heard, yes,” Steve says, giving her a smile, then winks. “Haven’t tested it thoroughly yet.”  


Hill laughs and Bucky raises his eyebrows. Steve winks at him too, then, still smiling to himself, sips his martini again. He’s nearly finished it and the vodka is starting to hit his system. He picks up Bucky’s left hand and tips his head to the side to read the time, realizing belatedly that as it’s a fancy dress watch, it’s analog and he has to do a mental conversion. Half past eight, give or take. He blames dyslexia.

 

“Congratulations on that gang bust Wednesday,” Bucky says to Wilson. “I heard there was, what, a hundred keys?”

 

“A hundred forty-seven,” Wilson says. “We’d been trying to clean up Brass Fang for about a year now, it’s good to have most of ‘em behind bars. Though, we’re still looking for their leader, Rumlow.”

 

Steve’s gaze falls to the table’s centerpiece, an arrangement of bright red roses in full bloom. The tattoo on the inside of his right wrist feels very obvious, even hidden by his sleeve. He picks up Bucky’s hand again, this time to lace their fingers together, and Bucky briefly squeezes his hand.

 

“He’ll turn up,” Bucky says, then pulls his hand free of Steve’s.

 

Steve looks up, only for Bucky to lay his arm over his shoulders. Steve relaxes then, leaning on him. His gaze falls back on the bright, primary red roses.

 

“I’m sure he will,” Wilson answers. “It’ll be nice to have the set in Rikers, though, ever since we got John Garrett.”

 

“How’s his appeal coming?” Bucky asks casually, thought his fingers dig into Steve’s shoulder. Steve wonders if he even knows he’s doing it.

 

“Horrible,” Wilson says gleefully. “Still doing three life sentences.”

 

“I’m glad,” Bucky answers with a firm nod. “Scum like him deserve to rot.”

 

Wilson’s eyebrows lift. Agent Hill, seated between the police captain and Bucky, looks on the conversation with calm curiosity, though Steve feels sure she’s taking mental notes.

 

“The city’s cracking down on drug dealers,” Wilson says. “Especially Alphas like Garrett and Rumlow.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Bucky replies. “I’m actually sponsoring the construction of a rehab center in Bushwick.”

 

“We need it,” Wilson says sadly. “Is it your company building it or you personally?”

 

“It’s a personal project,” Bucky answers.

 

Wilson gives a nod. Agent Hill glances between them, but Steve figures she’d either have to be highly suspicious or incredibly intelligent to realize that by _personal,_ Bucky meant it was family business.

 

Feeling abruptly bold, Steve says: “It’s not far from where I used to work.”

 

Wilson meets his eye. Steve holds his gaze levelly, but pulls his right hand closer to his body. He’s going to get that tattoo covered up, he decides then and there. Brass Fang doesn’t exist anymore, he’s not part of them, they don’t own him any longer. He feels a sudden rush of clarity; he really is his own person now, and wasn’t before. The tattoo on his arm was a sign of Fang’s ownership of him, but – A little change here and there… Perhaps he could redesign it into something to symbolize his freedom.

 

“Neighborhood will do better for it,” Wilson says.

 

Steve nods. If he does it right, he could intentionally leave the design incomplete. If he and Bucky work out, then he could make it a sign of his submission to Bucky. That was what Bucky had meant their first night together. True submission was Steve wanting to take Brass Fang’s sign of ownership, suffocating and non-consensual, and make it into a sign of Bucky’s loving ownership.

 

“Whole of Brooklyn will probably be better off for it,” Steve says. He redirects his thoughts. Love is still a four-letter word he doesn’t want to say.

 

“It’s a noble gesture,” Hill says.

 

“It’s the least I can do,” Bucky tells her.

 

He glances at Steve, then squeezes his shoulder. Steve leans on him, remembering that Bucky is building the rehab center with the money he’d taken from Brass Fang. Blood money and dollars made off of kids like him. Bucky doesn’t want money that’s that dirty, that’s why he’s building it.

 

“If everyone could take their seats!” Tony Stark’s voice projects across the room. Steve lifts his gaze, then catches sight of speakers carefully built into the high relief designs of the ceiling. “The evening’s just beginning!”

 

When Steve looks back down, there are more people approaching their table. His mouth almost drops open but he catches it at the last second, covering it by picking up his martini and swallowing the last of it. Thor Odinson takes the seat next to him.

 

“Good evening,” Thor Odinson says, smiling around. His brother, Loki, takes the seat next to him.

 

“Yes, good evening,” Loki Odinson agrees. “What’s a bloke got to do to get a halfway decent drink in this place?”

 

Thor Odinson smiles apologetically. Steve returns it, trying to find the rest of his brain. It is all he can do to not whip out his phone and tell Darcy that _Thor fucking Odinson_ is sitting next to him. For the rest of the evening! Steve’s feeling a bit lightheaded.

 

He bites his tongue when the plug in his ass switches on abruptly. Carefully, Steve drops a hand under the table and grabs Bucky’s thigh, squeezing it three times. Bucky catches his gaze, raising an eyebrow, but turns it off.

 

“I haven’t had the pleasure of making any of your acquaintances before,” Thor Odinson remarks, casually setting his elbows on the table. “I am Thor Odinson, this is my brother –”

 

“They know who we are,” Loki Odinson interrupts.

 

Thor Odinson smiles apologetically, again. “He’s adopted,” he says.

 

Loki Odinson rolls his eyes heavily.

 

Bucky sticks out his hand. “James Barnes,” he says simply.

 

Thor Odinson reaches across Steve to shake Bucky’s hand. “I have heard of you, good sir,” he replies, “weren’t you featured in that World War II epic about Brooklyn?”

 

“Yes, yes, I was,” Bucky says, unsmiling as was his reputation. “Part of the film was shot on some of my property in Brooklyn so they offered me a cameo.”

 

“Splendid of them,” Loki Odinson says. “The cameo was very – ah, flattering to life.”

 

Then Bucky smiles. “You think so?”

 

Steve flicks his gaze between Bucky and Loki Odinson. He wonders how he can communicate that he doesn’t want Bucky to arrange the death of one of his favorite actors silently.

 

“I thought it was inspired,” Thor Odinson throws in. “The whole film was fantastic. It’s raised quite a few million for that HIV/AIDS charity already.”

 

“That was part of why I was so happy to lend my property to the filming,” Bucky says. His hand shifts on Steve’s shoulder. “This is my partner, Steve Rogers.”

 

Steve smiles happily. “It’s lovely to meet you,” he says, then internally gives himself a pat on the bat for not being tongue-tied.

 

“Hello,” Thor Odinson says with a bright grin, offering Steve his hand to shake. Steve takes it, then – he must have misread – Thor brings it to his lips and kisses it. “Enchanted,” Thor Odinson says.

 

Steve grins and nods. Bucky’s hand comes to rest on the back of his neck and squeezes briefly.

 

“Forgive me for asking,” Loki Odinson says, leaning forward, “but what are your pronouns?”

 

“He/him,” Steve answers, a little startled though it’s not the first time his mixed appearance garnered that question. “Thank you for asking.”

 

Loki just nods, leaning back. Steve swallows, his mouth dry, and looks around in hopes that a waiter would be bringing water soon. Loki Odinson just asked him what his pronouns are. He’s a little lightheaded.

 

“Hello!”

 

Steve looks up. He smiles and wonders if it’s too late to go back for another martini. Cardi B and Offset take seats on the other side of the table. There’s only one seat left; Steve would bet that it would be filled by fucking Nicki Minaj herself at this point.

 

“How are we tonight?” Cardi B asks; Offset is helping her sit down, she’s cupping her baby bump. Steve doesn’t even know their real names.

 

“Lovely!” Thor pipes up. “How are you, madam?”

 

“Missing out on the free champagne,” Cardi B answers with a grin. Offset is quiet as he sits down; he’s on his phone. Steve is debating whether it would be tacky if he Googled their real names. Anyway, Cardi B wiggles her fingers at Thor and Loki Odinson. “Good to see you, boys.”

 

“As it is to see you,” Thor replies.

 

Steve knows a compulsive flirt when he sees one, and Thor is a compulsive flirt. It makes it a little easier on his starstruck-ness, actually.

 

“Uh, hi,” Agent Hill pipes up. “I’m Maria Hill, it’s lovely to meet you.”

 

“Oh, hi!” Cardi B greets with a wide grin. “It’s nice to meet you too, Maria,” she says and is already redirecting her attention. “Now, I wanna know who your makeup artist is, honey, you look fire!”

 

Steve jerks a little in his seat. “Me?” he says stupidly.

 

“Yes, you!” Cardi B laughs with a wave.

 

“Um, thanks,” Steve says. “Uh, my friend Darcy did my makeup.”

 

“She got a tag name or a YouTube?” Cardi B asks.

 

“Uh,” Steve says. “She’s got an Instagram but she doesn’t do makeup, like, professionally or anything.”

 

“She should,” Cardi B remarks. “What’s her Insta? Babe, gimme my phone.”

 

Offset takes a second phone out of his jacket and hands it to her. Steve scrambles to remember Darcy’s Instagram account, then tugs out his phone and checks. He reads it aloud and looks up again.

 

“Thanks, boo,” Cardi B says, tapping at her phone before giving it back to Offset. Did she just follow Darcy’s Instagram? Steve is shook. “I like your necklace, too, it looks like more than enough sparkle for even me!”

 

“It’s custom,” Steve says, reaching up to touch the pendant. “Uh –” Should he say Bucky or Barnes or James? James, that makes more sense. “James bought it for me.” James feels weird on his tongue.

 

Bucky slides his hand back around Steve’s shoulders, lifting the other in a wave.

 

“James Barnes,” Cardi says then, offering a smile. “You got the gossip rags throwin’ fits more than Kanye and Kim fighting in the corner!”

 

“Doing the rest of us a favor,” Offset speaks. Steve is shook.

 

“He right,” Cardi agrees, nodding. “Thanks, hon.”

 

“No problem,” Bucky says. “Have you met Captain Wilson? He’s in charge of the 79th Precinct in Brooklyn.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Cardi says with a dutiful wave. Wilson bends his head and waves back. “Weren’t you the one to bust Brass Fang?”

 

“That was my team,” Wilson answers. “I just sign the papers.”

 

Cardi laughs. Steve bites his lip, trying to keep himself from laughing at how canned she sounds. She’s from the Bronx, if his memory serves. She probably knows people who got sucked into local gangs. She might have bought Fang’s coke before, even. She might have known someone _in_ Fang.

 

“Give yourself a little credit,” Bucky says.

 

“Well, really we got the guy who tipped us off to thank,” Wilson answers. Steve flicks his gaze to him as Wilson gives a nod. “Would never have known they were exploiting the old child protection laws to fill up their ranks of Omegas without that guy.”

 

And Steve flicks his gaze away. He thought Bucky took them down on drug charges.

 

“At least they’re off the street,” Bucky replies.

 

“They was doin’ what?” Cardi asks, her smile entirely gone.

 

“The gang ran prostitutes as well as drugs,” Wilson answers her. “A lot of the Omegas were adopted out of the foster system and then sucked into the gang because of some old laws concerning at-risk children. Essentially, the gang’s leader had all control of the Omega even after they turned 18 thanks to those papers.”

 

“A lot?” Steve breaks in, looking up.

 

“Yeah, fifteen,” Wilson says.

 

Steve realizes he’s staring and says, “Oh,” to cover it before dropping his gaze. Bucky’s hand comes back to the back of his neck, squeezing gently.

 

He had had no idea that Garrett had tricked so much more than just him. How many had been younger than him? How many had Garrett adopted, had thought they’d found a home only to be stuck in something worse than what they’d left? How many had thought they were the only ones?

 

“That’s awful,” Cardi gasps. “Poor kids.”

 

Offset shakes his head.

 

“Truly despicable,” Thor agrees. “I hope the men that did it are put away for a very long time.”

 

“Oh, they are,” Wilson promised. “Turns out, we had the man behind that plot behind bars already and it was his lackies enforcing the papers.”

 

“The papers are all void now, right?” Steve speaks up.

 

Bucky flicks his gaze to him but Steve is looking at Wilson.

 

“All of them,” Wilson tells him. “The DA is looking at fixing those loopholes, too, and we’re working on tracking down the Omegas exploited by Fang to check up on them.”

 

Steve’s gut twists. He regrets the vodka. Wilson knows who he is. Steve pulls his hands into his lap, like Wilson could see through his cuffs to the tattoo on his wrist, but it must have been obvious. Barnes organizes the takedown of a gang exploiting underage Omegas, one of which a man, and then arrives at a red carpet event with a male Omega on his arm? Wilson would have to be a fool not to connect the dots.

 

“The FBI got involved and everything,” Wilson adds, “that’s how I met Maria here.”

 

“You’re with the FBI?” Cardi asks.

 

Hill gives a nod. Her gaze shifts and Steve, like everyone else, looks up as the final guest to their table arrives.

 

“Evening,” says the ninth guest, pulling out his chair.

 

Steve doesn’t know him, but feels almost like he should. The new arrival, an older black man, is intimidating; scars litter his exposed skin, an honest-to-God eyepatch covers his left eye, and he’s fairly massive.

 

“Evening, sir,” Hill answers sharply.

 

“At ease,” the man sighs, dropping down. He looks around the table, then his gaze lands on Bucky. “Well, this is awkward,” he drawls.

 

“Director Fury,” Bucky greets pleasantly. “I hope you’re not here to threaten me with arrest again.”

 

“I wish,” Director Fury answers. Steve connects the dots; the man is the head of the FBI, Nicholas or Nolan Fury. Something like that. “I’m here on pleasure. I hope you’re here for the same?”

 

“An excuse to buy my partner something shiny,” Bucky replies.

 

Fury’s one eye flicks to Steve. The tension at the table is very high. Offset has actually sunk in his chair, finally looking up from his phone. Cardi is grimacing, looking between the FBI director and the head of the Russian mafia. Loki is tapping his index fingers together with his eyes downcast and his lips pursed, Thor’s mouth is slightly open and his eyes are wide, Agent Hill is not at ease.

 

“I expect this was some kind of joke by Stark,” Fury sighs.

 

“To surround me with law enforcement?” Bucky guesses. “Yeah, probably. I’ll be having words with him later.”

 

“Words?” Fury repeats, eyebrows lifting. “Just words?”

 

Bucky smiles humorlessly. “I need little else,” he answers.

 

Fury looks on, his expression doubtful. “Not with the Black Widow behind you, no,” he says darkly. Steve sees a shadow nearing and glances over his shoulder. Natasha is slowly walking by.

 

“I have a lot of enemies,” Bucky tells Fury. “You should know, being one of them.”

 

Fury raises his eyebrows further. “Perhaps,” he answers.

 

Natasha’s shadow edges nearer.

 

“Okay,” Steve announces decisively, sitting up further in his seat. “You two are going to play nice.”

 

Fury’s expression breaks and he blinks. Bucky leans back in his seat. Steve levels a finger at each of them.

 

“You both can cuss Stark out later,” he says firmly, looking between Fury and Bucky with stern eyes. “In the meantime, you’re not ruining everybody’s evening.”

 

Cardi laughs, and it sounds much less canned this time. Steve focuses on Bucky.

 

“Otherwise, you’re gonna familiarize yourself with the couch,” he threatens. “Got it?”

 

Bucky blinks at him. Steve stands his ground.

 

“Yes, sir,” Bucky answers at last.

 

Steve breaks and smiles, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. “Shuddup,” he mutters, his ears heating.

 

“I don’t know what you’re gonna do to me if I ruin your evening,” Fury remarks and Steve sobers to look at him, “but anybody who can rein in Barnes has got balls in my book.”

 

“Ovaries, thank you,” Steve corrects.

 

“I’ll drink to that,” Hill says, lifting her cocktail.

 

Offset lifts his drink, then drains it.

 

“Thanks, baby,” Cardi laughs.

 

“I don’t have anything to drink,” Steve says, picking up his empty martini glass.

 

With perfect timing, a waiter appears at his shoulder and plucks his water glass from the table, filling it and setting back down. Steve raises his eyebrows, but takes it and drinks.

 

“To a pleasant evening,” Bucky says, lifting his whiskey glass. The waiter goes around the table, filling their water glasses, and as he comes back around to Bucky, the rest of the table lifts their glasses.

 

“To a nice evening,” Fury says and drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _if you enjoyed this, leave me a comment i love comments. check out chaos's art and have a spooktactular halloween! i'll see you in a few hours with chapter 22, **four-letter words**._
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>   _sidenote, erik uses the N word in this as it is aligned with his character and background. i personally am not black but i asked for input from people who are to make sure it was appropriate for me to write him using it and they all said it seemed fine. my apologies if it makes you uncomfortable, but i promise that it's only killmonger using the word and i have never said it aloud irl._
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>  **Sunt mulțumit de asta** = _I'm happy with that_  
>  **Mă amuză** = _it amuses me_  
>  **Biet bebelus** = _poor baby_  
>  **Futu-te** = _Fuck you_  
>  **Aș prefera să te futu. Cocoșul tău este prea mic** = _I'd rather fuck you. Your cock is too small_  
>  **Suge pula mea mai târziu, ce zici de asta?** = _Suck my dick later, how about that?_  
>  **Sloboziti-as fata** = _I'll come on your face_
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	22. four-letter words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _the last chapter of today, happy halloweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!_

##  _four-letter words_

 

Steve takes a long but dignified gulp of wine.

 

“The Dodgers are straight traitors,” Hill says firmly.

 

“They’re better than the Yankees,” Bucky tells her.

 

“Of course you’d be a Yankees hater,” Fury remarks.

 

Dinner had been served shortly after they had toasted to a pleasant evening. Four courses, soup, salad, then filet mignon with truffles and scallops, though Steve’s plate had not had any scallops – “I told them you had an allergy,” Bucky had explained – and finally saffron ice cream and sweet wine, a light rosé. Somewhere between the third and fourth course, someone had mentioned baseball and Fury and Bucky had promptly jumped to argue about something that wasn’t work related. Loki, Thor, Offset, and Cardi have long since left and Steve is very bored.

 

“The Yankees are cheaters,” Bucky says passionately, “they play with money instead of skill.”

 

“Oh, so they bribe the officials?” Fury counters. “Despicable.”

 

Steve looks into his empty glass, then lifts his eyes, wondering where their waiter is. Usually, the second a guest drained their glass, a waiter was appearing from under their elbow to refill it.

 

“What are you implying?” Bucky throws back.

 

“I think you know what I’m implying,” Fury answers calmly.

 

“Why don’t you say it to my face?” Bucky says, waving Fury on. “You’ll have to spell it out for me, remember, my English ain’t that great.”

 

“I never said you had poor English,” Fury tells him.

 

“You called me a halfwit gypsy!” Bucky accuses. “Then _you_ paid officials to forget you’d ever said it!”

 

“You’re twisting my words!” Fury insists.

 

“What happened to not ruining our evening?” Steve mutters, leaning back in his chair to flag down a waiter with a wine bottle. “Assholes,” he adds under his breath.

 

“Director Fury would never say something like that,” Agent Hill enters the argument.

 

“Thank you, Agent,” Fury says.

 

The waiter zooms in their direction. Steve holds up his wine glass for them and the waiter takes it to fill it, handing it back with a bow. Steve mouths _Thanks!_ as they leave, then takes another long but dignified gulp.

 

“You mocked my English,” Bucky insists.

 

“Director Fury would never!” Agent Hill says.

 

“He said it to my face,” Bucky tells her.

 

Steve sets his elbow on the table and gives Bucky a look. He’s not paying attention. Steve purses his lips, unamused, and Bucky just carries on arguing with Fury.

 

Captain Wilson stands up and Steve is the only one who notices; Wilson comes around the table and stops behind Bucky’s chair, holding out a hand to Steve.

 

“Would you like to dance?” he offers.

 

Steve looks at Bucky.

 

“Why don’t you say what you’re really thinking?” Bucky demands of Fury.

 

“Do you know a man named Ulysses Klaue?” Fury asks. “He’s gone missing, shortly after Tony Stark accused him of stealing from his weapons testing facility in Arizona.”

 

“Why don’t you ask Stark?” Bucky counters.

 

“I’d love to,” Steve says to Wilson, taking his outstretched hand.

 

Wilson gives him a pleasant smile and walks him to the open dance floor, where guests have gathered to waltz to the small orchestra set up on the stage. Steve doesn’t know how to waltz, but Wilson will lead and he’s good at picking up rhythm so it doesn’t matter so much.

 

“I guess you’ll be threatening him with the couch again later,” Wilson says, taking Steve’s waist.

 

“Nah,” Steve answers. Wilson takes his right hand and Steve puts his left on Wilson’s shoulder, a little lower than normal since Wilson is still much taller than him even with his six-inch heels. “This will be enough to get back at him.”

 

“He gets jealous?” Wilson asks, smiling as though on reflex.

 

“Very,” Steve laughs.

 

They fall into the rhythm of the music, and Steve picks up the four-step rather quickly.

 

“How long have you two been together?” Wilson asks him.

 

“About a month,” Steve says.

 

“Where did you meet?” Wilson asks.

 

Steve tips his head to one side. “I think you know.”

Wilson looks at Steve’s right hand, then releases it to tug on his sleeve a little. The gold lines of Steve’s tattoo peek out from under his cuff.

 

“You were one of Brass Fang’s Omegas,” Wilson says simply.

 

“And you’re working for James,” Steve counters.

 

Wilson tips his head side to side, his eyes searching the room. “On some levels,” he says. “We knew each other before Bucky met Alyosha.”

 

Steve grows suspicious. “Army?” he asks.

 

“I was in the Air Force,” Wilson says with a pleasant smile. “But essentially, yes.”

 

“You’re friends, then?” Steve asks, growing even more suspicious. Bucky doesn’t trust anyone, after all. “Otherwise you would be calling him James, and you wouldn’t call Aleksei Alyosha.”

 

“We are,” Wilson says. He gives Steve a nod. “Bucky asked for my help to clean up Seyrbakov Corp.”

 

Steve lets out a quiet _ah._ “He told me.”

 

“What did he tell you?” Wilson presses.

 

“That it’s a legitimate company and he wants to eliminate the illegitimate,” Steve answers calmly.

 

Wilson gives a nod. “I’m surprised he was willing to share with you so soon,” he replies.

 

“It’s slow going, isn’t it?” Steve says instead of acknowledging his statement.

 

“It’s gonna take another twenty years,” Wilson answers. “But it’ll happen. Bucky told me he didn’t want his son to succeed him.”

 

Steve nods slowly. Bucky didn’t need an heir. He never wanted one, then. “I haven’t met his son yet.”

 

“A month’s a little soon to meet your partner’s kid from a past relationship,” Wilson says with a smile. “Of course, a month’s a little soon to be threatening your partner with the couch as well.”

 

“We live together,” Steve says. “We have an arrangement.”

 

“I thought as much,” Wilson replies. “Bucky took down Brass Fang for you.”

 

“More or less,” Steve answers quietly. “Garrett owned me. You know that.”

 

Wilson nods. “Are we going to find Rumlow?”

 

“Maybe,” Steve says. “It depends on where Rollins and Ward buried him.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” Wilson muses. “We suspected Rumlow was pushing coke at the high school, then out of nowhere it all stopped.”

 

“I guess Rollins didn’t want to follow in Rumlow’s footsteps,” Steve tells him.

 

“Was this before or after your arrangement with Bucky?” Wilson asks.

 

“Around the same time,” Steve says evasively.

 

“What is that arrangement, if you mind my asking?”

 

Steve considers him and his question carefully. Wilson waits patiently for him to answer.

 

“Symbiosis,” Steve says eventually.

 

“And do you both benefit?” Wilson asks.

 

“We do,” Steve answers. “We genuinely want it to work.”

 

Wilson nods slowly. “It’s been a long time since he was happy.”

 

“Is he happier?” Steve counters, feeling self-conscious. “I mean – I know he is when we’re together, but I didn’t know him before. You did. Is he happier with me than with Alyosha?”

 

“Yeah,” Wilson says simply. “Alyosha was no good for him. He would manipulate Buck into doing things that Bucky wasn’t comfortable doing, promise that he loved him and then prey on his vulnerabilities, he’d cheat with Omegas and claim it was to maintain his reputation, but then he’d do it with other Alphas, too. It was a very toxic relationship, Alyosha refusing to be open about it made it worse.”

 

“Oh,” Steve says. It’s a lot of information to process. He’d assumed that Alyosha had been an Alpha. He’d thought that something about Bucky’s ex was off. He’d suspected that Bucky’s relationship with Alyosha had been toxic, but not like that. It’s a lot of information.

 

“Bucky’s been anxious about not doing to anyone else what Alyosha ever did to him,” Wilson goes on. “And his friends, the few he has, are anxious not to see him end up with another Alyosha.”

 

Wilson looks at him evenly. Steve stands at his full height, straightening his crooked spine as best he can, and returns his level gaze.

 

“I did think about manipulating Bucky into keeping me,” he admits.

 

Wilson’s expression hardens and Steve keeps going before he can speak.

 

“But I wanted him to want to keep me, I wanted to make him want me by his side the rest of his life,” he says honestly.

 

It’s not as hard as he’d been afraid of.

 

“And then he turned out to be genuinely kind, he treated me like an equal and that took me off guard,” Steve says and Wilson’s expression softens predictably. “When he learned about my past,” Steve goes on, “he said the same thing you just did, he didn’t want to prey on my vulnerabilities, so I decided to be honest with him in return.”

 

“And what are you doing now?” Wilson asks him carefully.

 

“Continuing to be honest,” Steve answers. “I said we want it to work out, we do. I didn’t realize that Bucky wanted a partner when we first met, I thought he just wanted someone to fuck. But that’s not what he wanted and that’s not what I want either. You heard him, we’re partners.”

 

“Alright then,” Wilson says. “Then I have no concerns.”

 

“Good,” Steve replies.

 

“What are you going to do now that you’re free of Brass Fang?” Wilson asks instead.

 

“Other than being a kept boy?” Steve counters, smiling. “I’m going to go back to school. Get my GED and then go to college. Bucky encouraged me to finish my education.”

 

“What are you going to study?” Wilson prompts, smiling again. He has a lovely smile.

 

“Art,” Steve answers, smiling himself a little. “It was my favorite before I dropped out of high school.”

 

“An artist,” Wilson says, the smile growing. “Bucky used to write poetry before all this. Hasn’t picked up a pen since he left the Army, far as I know.”

 

“I didn’t know,” Steve says softly.

 

“You should encourage him to try it again,” Wilson adds with a nod. “I’m going to spin you now, by the way.”

 

“Oh, okay –” Steve says, but Wilson twirls him around before he can even finish the sentence. Steve gives a laugh as Wilson pulls him back in, tucking him a little closer this time. The music changes, becoming a livelier tune and Wilson offers him a grin as he picks up the new rhythm.

 

“Who knows,” Wilson says, “Bucky might write you love poems.”

 

Steve smiles at the thought.

 

Then he inhales sharply as his anal plug begins a strong vibration, climbing even. Steve drops his gaze, his ears and the back of his neck heat up, then Wilson gives a chuckle and Steve’s blush increases; he can’t imagine Wilson knows, but the timing is suspicious.

 

“Bucky’s noticed,” Wilson says, explaining the chuckle.

 

“I know,” Steve mumbles.

 

Wilson taps a finger against his ribs and Steve looks up, turning his head to the side and meeting Bucky’s gaze as he approaches, his hands in his pockets. The crowd parts for him, almost like those in his way don’t even mean to do it. Steve can see Bucky’s aura of dirty money and power just as strongly as he did the night they met, with Bucky’s fitted black tux and his gold tooth gleaming as he smiles, and it still gives him a thrill. Even more so now; Bucky’s attention is zeroed in on _him._

 

Steve gives Bucky a smile, dazed by his Alpha’s aura and the vibrations in his ass. His tell-tale heart is a hammer in his chest. The rush – something that doesn’t feel like lust – is intoxicating.

 

“You won’t mind me cutting in,” Bucky says to Wilson.

 

“Of course not,” Wilson says, releasing Steve and bowing at the waist. “Thank you for the dance, Steve.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Steve manages to get out as the vibration increases yet again.

 

Bucky takes his hands and immediately pulls Steve flush against him. Steve puts both hands on Bucky’s chest and leans his forehead against Bucky’s jacket, exhaling deeply.

 

“Lookit’chu,” Bucky murmurs. His words are a breeze to Steve’s hearing, low and deep enough to rumble under Steve’s palms. Steve is shivering now. “Blushing like a new bride. Or a whore in church. Is my little curvă thinking about something dirty?”

 

“What do you think?” Steve says breathily. “What does curvă mean?”

 

Bucky’s lips touch the cartilage of his right ear. Steve is grateful for his strong grip on his waist; his knees are shaking.

 

“Slut,” Bucky whispers in his ear. “Curvă mea mică. Iti este cald? Ai nevoie de mine să te ating, băietel?”

 

Steve draws in a very deep breath through his nose, then lets it out through his mouth. “Three, sir,” he mumbles.

 

“I think you can last a little longer,” Bucky says quietly.

 

One of his hands sweeps up Steve’s back, the other curls tighter around him. They sway rather than dance to the music. Steve could probably stand on Bucky’s feet, and if he weren’t wearing platform stiletto heels, he would.

 

“Cum e cocoșul mică tău, băietel?” Bucky says softly in his ear. “Are you getting hard?” he adds a translation.

 

Steve nods, pulling his head off of Bucky’s jacket so he doesn’t mess up his makeup. Even with his extremely light makeup, it’s been several hours and it could transfer onto Bucky’s good suit.

 

“How hard?” Bucky murmurs in his ear.

 

“Two,” Steve mumbles.

 

“I bet you’ve been flushed ever since you put on your panties,” Bucky says then. “I know you’re wearing panties, propria mea, you’re wearing pantyhose, so you gotta be wearing the whole deal. You got on a garter?”

 

Steve nods quickly, looking at Bucky’s feet.

 

“What about a bra?” Bucky murmurs. “What color is it?”

 

“Red,” Steve says.

 

“That’s gotta be gorgeous,” Bucky says. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

 

Steve nods again. “Just for you, sir.”

 

“That’s right,” Bucky says. His hands curl tighter around Steve’s back. “You’re all mine. Now, why would you play with me like that by dancing with another man?”

 

Steve sucks in a breath. “You mad, sir?”

 

“I’m jealous,” Bucky answers. “You know I don’t like people touching what’s mine, Stevie.”

 

“Gonna punish me?” Steve asks.

 

“Maybe,” Bucky responds. “You gonna tell me what was goin’ through that pretty little head? Did you wanna make me jealous on purpose?”

 

“You weren’t paying attention to me,” Steve says very, very quietly.

 

“I wasn’t?” Bucky replies thoughtfully. Then he sighs and kisses Steve’s hair carefully. “I think you’re right. Then that puts it on me. I should’a known better than to ignore my curvă mică like that.”

 

“So you’re not gonna punish me?” Steve asks, squinting with one eye and looking up.

 

“Maybe,” Bucky says with a grin. “What’s your number?”

 

Steve carefully bites down on his lip to consider himself. Bucky’s gaze falls to his mouth.

 

“Still three,” Steve says. “Maybe nearing four.”

 

“I want to do filthy things to you,” Bucky whispers.

 

Steve flutters his eyes shut. Bucky pulls a hand up Steve’s spine, trailing his fingers over his vertebrae, to cup the back of his neck and rub his thumb into his skin.

 

“When we get home,” Bucky says, a voice that’s somehow bridging the line between a purr and a growl, “I want to lay you out and keep you on the edge for hours. I want to play with you until you’re a mess, babydoll. I wanna try wax or ice, what do you think?”

 

“I think yes,” Steve says quietly. “I’m – Sir, I‘m – I need –”

 

Bucky releases his back and Steve leans on him for support as Bucky reaches into his pocket at last. Steve lets out a long breath as Bucky takes his waist again, keeping them moving gently to the music.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky tells him gently. “We’re gonna step off the floor when this song ends and get you a drink of water. Understand?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers, lying his temple against Bucky’s shoulder. He pushes his hands up to link behind Bucky’s neck and breathes out another deep exhale. “‘M a bit tipsy,” he adds.

 

“I know,” Bucky says. “No more alcohol tonight.”

 

“Fair,” Steve agrees. “Did you finish your argument with that FBI guy?”

 

“No,” Bucky chuckles. “I realized you’d gotten up and excused myself.”

 

Steve huffs. “Took you a whole five minutes.”

 

“My error,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“How long is this gala thing, exactly?” Steve asks, looking up.

 

“We can leave at eleven,” Bucky answers.

 

“And what time is it now?” Steve prompts.

 

Bucky checks his watch. “Almost ten.”

 

Steve nods, running his tongue over his teeth. “I don’t suppose you could send Natasha and Clint home in a separate car?”

 

Bucky’s lip curls. “I was planning on it.”

 

Steve bites his lip and grins. “Guess we’re gonna see how tough this lipstick is, huh?”

 

Bucky shifts his hand and grips his jaw, his thumb pressing to Steve’s lower lip and Steve lets his lips part, lifting his chin and hooding his eyes.

 

“I guess we’ll see,” Bucky murmurs.

 

The song ends. Bucky turns Steve out, but leaves his arm around his waist and starts him towards the bar. Steve forces his legs to steady themselves so he doesn’t turn an ankle in his heels and uses Bucky as a crutch. Cardi B passes them and waves; Steve waves back, no longer shook by their interactions. At the bar, Steve hops onto a stool and Bucky stands behind him, hands still at his waist.

 

“Can I get some water?” Steve asks the bartender. Then, “Thanks,” when he’s handed a short glass of water and ice. He takes a sip, then a longer one and puts it down, exhaling.

 

Steve leans back on Bucky, turning his head to the side. Bucky kisses him gently, then pushes his hands around Steve’s middle and folds them together.

 

“Hi,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Hi,” Bucky answers with a soft smile. “Have I said how gorgeous you look tonight?”

 

“You can say it again,” Steve says and Bucky smiles wider.

 

Bucky kisses him on the lips, then pecks the tip of his nose. “You’re absolutely sensational.”

 

“I like that one,” Steve says.

 

“Breathtaking,” Bucky adds. “You’re dazzling, you look like a dream.”

 

“You spoil me,” Steve tells him.

 

“Isn’t that what sugar daddies are meant to do?” Bucky asks him with a smirk. Steve flushes and giggles, nodding. “I’m allowed to spoil my sugar baby,” Bucky coos. “I like making you blush.”

 

“You’re very good at it,” Steve says. “Surprisingly. I thought I didn’t blush at all before you.”

 

“You’re so pretty when you blush,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve just smiles at him, then sits up and picks up his water again. Bucky presses a quick kiss to the back of his neck and Steve shivers a little.

 

“Barnes!” someone calls and Bucky groans behind Steve. “Are you going to bid at the auction?”

 

“Evening, Pierce,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve puts down his water and looks up; an older man, slightly orange face lined with wrinkles, props an elbow onto the bar next to them at a reasonable distance.

 

“I honestly forgot about the auction,” Bucky continues. “What’s Stark selling again?”

 

“Antiques, this year,” Pierce answers.

 

His gaze flicks to Steve and a corner of his lip lifts. Steve is immediately creeped out.

 

“I heard you brought a pretty young thing,” Pierce adds, then holds out his hand to Steve. “Alexander Pierce.”

Steve looks at Pierce’s hand. He reluctantly shakes it. “Steve Rogers,” he introduces himself and pulls away before Pierce can pull any kissing of the pretty young thing’s hand bullshit.

 

“It’s wonderful to meet you, my dear,” Pierce tells him. “I work with James in imports/exports.”

 

“Pierce is my leading competitor,” Bucky remarks. Steve gives a nod and smiles politely.

 

“I heard your stocks took a hit last week,” Pierce says. “Not good signs, Barnes.”

 

“My stocks are still worth twice yours,” Bucky answers calmly. “If you’ll excuse us.”

 

Steve takes Bucky’s hand to slip off the stool, bringing his glass of water. Bucky walks him back to their table, empty at that point, and pulls out his chair for him.

 

“I hate that guy,” Bucky sighs, sitting down next to him.

 

“I got major creep vibes,” Steve tells him.

 

“No kidding,” Bucky mutters, his voice continuing in a grumble. “Nerve of him, calling you a pretty young thing. Ought’a introduce him to the East River.”

 

Steve laughs. Bucky, still scowling, pulls out his phone. “I’m telling Natasha and Clint to keep him away from us. I ain’t lookin’ to spoil our evening any more than Fury already done.”

 

“The evening’s only spoiled if you let them spoil it,” Steve tells him firmly, then flicks his shoulder and sticks out his cheek when Bucky looks up. Bucky chuckles before kissing him, then throws an arm over the back of his chair. Steve, satisfied, takes out his phone and unlocks it. Immediately, he sees that he has more than one text from Darcy.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_lmao a Cardi B fan page followed me I thought it was actually Cardi B for a second_

_Scratch that a bot followed me all their posts are reposts of Cardi B’s insta_

_WAIT_

_STEVE_

_STVE_

_STEVEN ELSPETH_

_THIS ISN’T A BOT_

_CARDI B’S ACTUAL INSTAGRAM JUST FOLLOWED ME_

_ABORT ABORT WHAT THE FUCK! JUST HAPPENED STEVEN GRACE ROGERS I CAN’T_

 

Steve laughs softly under his breath, shaking his head at her meltdown.

 

**_Mr. Darcy:_ **

_Yeah she asked me who did my makeup and I told her it was you I gave her your insta_

 

Darcy starts typing. Steve hears a chair shifting and puts away his phone, looking up.

 

“Hello again,” Thor says with an easy smile as he sits. “Are you enjoying your evening so far, Steven?”

 

“I am, yes,” Steve answers happily. “Thanks. You?”

 

“It’s quite pleasant,” Thor says, winking at him. “I think I’ve danced with everyone here.”

 

“I didn’t know there would be dancing,” Steve admits. “I’ve never been to anything like this before.”

 

“I usually come to Tony’s shindigs, as he calls them, as often as I can,” Thor tells him. “They’re always so enjoyable.”

 

“I like it,” Steve says.

 

“I haven’t danced with you,” Thor says, as if just realizing it, then holds out his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

 

Steve bites his lip and glances at Bucky. Bucky raises his eyebrows and Steve grins a bit; Bucky rolls his eyes and nods. Steve looks back at Thor and takes his hand.

 

“I would love to dance,” Steve says.

 

“Splendid,” Thor answers, rising and pulling Steve from his seat.

 

They cross to the dance floor and Thor takes his waist, falling into a gentle waltz.

 

“Tell me about yourself,” Thor asks. “Do you work at Seyrbakov Corporations?”

 

“No,” Steve laughs, then makes a quick decision. “I’m attending community college to get a GED.”

 

“Oh, wonderful,” Thor answers. “What do you hope to study in the future?”

 

“Art,” Steve says. “Traditional mostly, drawing and oil painting.”

 

“I’m sure you’re quite talented,” Thor says with a bright grin. “What style do you have?”

 

“I’m partial to realism,” Steve says, “thought the Impressionists and Surrealists have always fascinated me.”

 

“Who is your favorite?” Thor asks. “Van Gogh?”

 

“Frida Kahlo,” Steve answers, smiling. “I saw one of her pieces in high school at the MoMA and been in love ever since. Her art’s an experience, y’know?”

 

“I don’t know so much about Kahlo,” Thor tells him, “but I understand art being an experience. When I was young, I saw Curtis Bernhardt’s _Devotion_ and from that moment on, I knew I had to become an actor. Ida Lupino had the leading role and she put so much soul into it.”

 

“That’s what Frida Kahlo’s art feels like,” Steve says. “Like it sees you, into your soul.”

 

“Yes, exactly,” Thor agrees. “You are quite a fascinating individual, Steven. I quite enjoy your company.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve says, with little else he could say in answer to that. “You’re, uh – You’re a pretty cool guy, too.”

 

“I wonder, do you live locally?” Thor asks. “Perhaps we could get dinner sometime?”

 

Steve blinks at him, a little confused. “Maybe?” he says. “Wait, do you mean, like a date?”

 

“Well, yes,” Thor answers with a nod.

 

Steve blinks further. “I’m kind of dating James,” he says carefully. “Exclusively?”

 

“Oh!” Thor says, gasping almost comically. “That is what he meant by partner!”

 

“No,” Steve laughs. “I’m flattered, but no, I’m taken.”

 

“Ah, well,” Thor sighs. “If you should find yourself single, I would be happy to be your rebound, as they say.”

 

Steve laughs again. “Well, I don’t anticipate that happening anytime soon,” he says, “but we could be friends?”

 

“That would be agreeable,” Thor replies, smiling again.

 

“I haven’t got a lot of art friends,” Steve tells him, “maybe we could visit the MoMA and I could show you Frida’s painting.”

 

“I think I would enjoy that,” Thor says. “Have you seen any of Ida Lupino’s movies? She even directed several things in her time, she was quite a visionary.”

 

“I don’t think I have,” Steve says. “When was her time?”

 

Thor laughs. “She acted during the Golden Age of Hollywood,” he says. “ _Devotion_ came out 1946.”

 

“I haven’t seen any of her movies, then,” Steve answers. “The only things in black and white I’ve seen were modern and done that way for style.”

 

“There are several old films that are truly masterpieces,” Thor says. “A favorite of mine is _No Widows Tonight,_ it’s about World War II, an American soldier’s plight to return home to his Omega and son. The heart and soul in it are so moving.”

 

“I’ll check it out,” Steve promises.

 

“It’s a niche film,” Thor adds. “Far ahead of its time, the soldier’s Omega was a man. It was written shortly after the first states here in America legalized same-sex Alpha/Omega marriages.”

 

“I’ll definitely check it out,” Steve says then. “I love sad, gay movies.”

 

“It is sad at the start,” Thor admits, “but the ending is very sweet. I won’t spoil it for you, though.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve chuckles. The song ends and Steve casts a glance back to their table.

 

“Back to your partner, then?” Thor asks, a light teasing tone in his voice.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says with a smile, slipping from Thor’s hold on him. “Thank you for the dance, though.”

 

Thor bends at the waist. “I shall see you when the auction starts,” he says.

 

Steve waves a little, then retreats from the dance floor. Bucky raises his eyebrows as he nears.

 

“Did you enjoy dancing with the supermodel?” Bucky asks him, pulling out his chair.

 

Steve sits. “I did,” he answers. “We discussed art and old movies. He asked me out and I told him you meant partner as in boyfriend.”

 

“Wasn’t that obvious?” Bucky says, throwing an arm around him.

 

“Apparently not,” Steve replies, leaning into Bucky’s side. “What time is it?”

 

Bucky lifts his hand to check his watch, then lets it hang around his shoulders again. “Quarter past ten. The auction’s gonna start five minutes ago.”

 

Steve snorts as Bucky raises his eyebrows with a wry smile. “Right,” Steve giggles.

 

“You threatened me with the couch,” Bucky mutters incredulously. “How was it not obvious?”

 

Steve shrugs a shoulder. “I said I was flattered but taken.”

 

Bucky kisses his cheek. “Damn right you’re taken,” he growls.

 

Steve shivers and waves a hand in his direction dismissively. He’s startled when the plug turns on and bites his lip to hold back a gasp.

 

“You’re mine,” Bucky says lowly. His other hand touches Steve’s waist, then sweeps around to his front to slide up his chest to his throat, where his fingers pick up the heart-shaped pendant hanging at Steve’s clavicle. “My harlot, my bitch, all mine. And I ain’t sharing with nobody.”

 

Steve hums vaguely. Bucky kisses his ear, then his neck.

 

“I own your pretty little ass,” Bucky murmurs. “I bet you feel real good right about now, dolly. You feel pretty, sweet thing?”

 

Steve nods.

 

“You feel like your sir wants you?” Bucky asks him and Steve nods again. “‘Cause I do, I can’t wait ‘til I get to pull that little plug out and stuff you up with my dick, baby boy. I can’t wait ‘til I get to fuck your tight ass, pop your cherry again, pretty whore.”

 

Steve hums, reaching over to put a hand on Bucky’s thigh. Bucky catches it and holds it instead of letting him slide it up his leg.

 

“Can’t wait to see your red lips stretched around my fat cock,” Bucky continues to whisper in his ear. “You’re gonna suck my dick in the car, baby boy, I’m gonna come down your throat so I don’t ruin your suit, but believe me, little harlot, I’d love to ruin your makeup.”

 

Bucky pulls back a little but Steve leaves his head on his shoulder, his eyes shut and dazed. The plug switches off and Steve almost whines, keeping it back at the last second.

 

“Hey, Loki,” Bucky says.

 

Steve opens his eyes, blinking, and sits up. The plug shifts in him and he bites the inside of his lip.

 

“How’s your night going?” Bucky asks Loki conversationally. Steve is impressed by his calm demeanor; he has to take a drink of water to clear his head.

 

“Fair,” Loki answers. “I honestly only came for the auction, it’s rumored Stark is selling some of his father’s collection.”

 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Bucky says. “Stark hated his father.”

 

“I can sympathize,” Loki replies.

 

“I never knew my father,” Bucky admits.

 

“Neither did I,” Steve tells him. “He lives in California with a wife and four kids.”

 

“What a bastard,” Bucky says kindly.

 

“We should start a club,” Loki adds dryly.

 

Steve points at him. “There’s an idea.”

 

“How come your father didn’t take you in when your ma died?” Bucky asks, frowning at him.

 

“Oh, he denies that he’s my father,” Steve says pleasantly with a nod. “The state couldn’t force him to take me.”

 

“What a _bastard,_ ” Bucky repeats emphatically.

 

“Yikes,” Loki says quietly.

 

Steve snorts and shrugs. “I had an occult phase, I once tried to summon a demon to kill him. Didn’t work.”

 

“I never thought of summoning a demon to solve my problems,” Loki says, looking considerate of the option. “I should have done that.”

 

“But it didn’t work,” Steve points out. “Joseph’s still alive. My father, I mean.”

 

“Perhaps you didn’t do it correctly,” Loki suggests. “What did you do?”

 

Steve sits back, blowing out his breath. “God, I don’t remember. It was about six years ago?”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows at the timing and Steve ignores him.

 

“What demon did you attempt to summon?” Loki presses.

 

“Any demon,” Steve tells him. “I didn’t specify.”

 

“That was it,” Loki says, nodding. “You have to name the demon.”

 

“Do you know much about summoning demons?” Steve asks curiously.

 

“From my work in _The Conjuring 3,_ ” Loki admits. “They used as many accurate methods as they could; we even had a priest on call in case we accidentally summoned a genuine demon.”

 

“I don’t watch horror movies,” Steve says.

 

“I know what we’re doing tomorrow,” Bucky throws in abruptly, sounding much too excited.

 

“Don’t give me nightmares!” Steve begs, pushing his shoulder. “I’ll punch you in my sleep and then what?”

 

“Can’t punch me if I sleep on top of you,” Bucky teases. “I’ll protect you from the demons, baby, don’t you worry.”

 

“Actually,” Loki says, “according to the researchers for the film, only professed Christians can deter the demonic.”

 

“Don’t give me nightmares,” Steve repeats firmly.

 

“Okay,” Bucky chuckles. “We’ll watch shitty horror movies.”

 

Steve glares at him. Bucky breaks into a grin, grabs the back of his neck, and pulls him into a kiss. Steve resumes glaring at him when Bucky pulls back and Bucky laughs.

 

“I recommend _Lights Out,_ ” Loki tells them. “But only if you aren’t sensitive to depictions of suicide by gunshot.”

 

“Steve?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrows.

 

“I don’t wanna watch a horror movie,” Steve whines.

 

“But think about it!” Bucky says, shaking him. “When you get scared, you can hide in my arms!”

 

Steve grimaces at him. Bucky laughs again.

 

“Is it a really scary movie?” Steve asks Loki skeptically.

 

“Having _been_ in one?” Loki starts. “Not at all. I couldn’t say if it would give you nightmares.”

 

“I’ll protect you,” Bucky promises.

 

“ _Only_ if we get cheesecake and meatballs from Adrianna’s,” Steve tells Bucky with a stern finger leveled at his chest. “And _only_ if we got to Mass on Sunday so we can get a priest to bless us.”

 

“Alright,” Bucky laughs. “I ain’t been to Mass in twenty years, though.”

 

“I ain’t been in ten years, you’re in good company,” Steve tells him, patting his shoulder.

 

Thor appears, dropping into the seat between Steve and Loki. “The auction is about to start,” he says.

 

“How would you feel if I sent a demon after our father?” Loki asks him.

 

Thor’s face takes on a perfect mask of confusion. Steve laughs.

 

“I thought you two made up!” Thor says.

 

Loki laughs, too. “I am kidding,” he answers, patting Thor on the shoulder.

 

“Hey, big fella,” Bucky says then, his arm curling tighter around Steve’s shoulder, “I hear you got designs on my Omega.”

 

Thor’s confused expression switches rapidly to dawning horror. Steve laughs.

 

“I see why you picked acting,” he says. “You’re very expressive.”

 

“I don’t got a problem here, do I?” Bucky asks.

 

“I have no intention of wooing Steven away from you,” Thor assures him.

 

“Better not,” Bucky answers. “You know how the Russians deal with problems, don’t you?”

 

Thor’s face picks up the horror again. Loki’s wide eyes flick between Bucky and Thor, his face blank and his lips slightly parted. Steve pats Bucky’s hand lying on the table.

 

“Don’t kill my favorite actor,” he tells Bucky calmly. “Otherwise Darcy and I will have to agree on a new standard of Alpha perfection and we spent hours arguing over it last time.”

 

Bucky leans back in his chair, looking annoyed still. Steve smiles at Thor.

 

“Don’t mind him,” he says, “he goes all caveman over me when he’s stressed. Seyrbakov stocks lost value last week, plus all this publicity is bad for his blood pressure.”

 

“I don’t have blood pressure issues,” Bucky mutters.

 

“Shh!” Steve says.

 

Thor gives a nervous laugh. “I understand,” he says.

 

“To be clear,” Loki speaks up, “there is no problem and the Russians don’t have to deal with it the usual way?”

 

“There’s no problem,” Steve assures him. He looks at Bucky and raises his eyebrows. “Right?”

 

Bucky huffs. Steve isn’t worried; Bucky’s being jealous for show, his irritation is on principle and not truly anger.

 

“Fine,” Bucky grumbles. Steve leans over and kisses his cheek, pleased.

 

“Anyway, I’m attempting to convince Darcy to update her standards to James Barnes,” Steve says with a smirk, still leaning in.

 

Bucky huffs again, then turns and pecks his lips like Steve wants. Steve, satisfied, leans back in his seat.

 

Loki clears his throat. “That was entertaining,” he says.

 

Thor laughs nervously again. “I find myself inspired to be more observant in the future,” he says.

 

“We’re still friends, right?” Steve asks him.

 

“Oh, yes,” Thor answers easily. “As long as that will not result in my early death.”

 

“I’m not that jealous,” Bucky says dryly.

 

Thor looks very relieved. Steve looks at Bucky sternly. Bucky just shrugs.

 

The auction starts soon after. Captain Wilson and Agent Hill re-join the table, as do Cardi B and Offset, but Fury doesn’t return and Steve is grateful. Stark is his own auctioneer and sells off, as rumored, about half of his late father’s collection. A prototype flying car from the 40s that never flew is the star of the auction, which Stark builds up to throughout the bidding.

 

“Let’s start at, say, thirty grand?” Stark announces when it finally comes up. “And thirty grand to Mr. Gates, what about thirty-five?”

 

Bucky hadn’t bid on a thing all night. He surprises Steve by raising a hand.

 

“Thirty-five to Barnes!” Stark calls, almost cackling. “Don’t get scared off by the Godfather, ladies and gents, what about forty? Forty to Facebook, forty-five, anyone? Forty-five to Steve Wozniak, this is the car for geeks, guys, what about fifty?”

 

Bucky lifts his hand again. Steve is watching him with an open mouth, delighted by this.

 

“The Godfather’s a geek!” Stark genuinely cackles. “Fifty to James Barnes, do I hear fifty-five? Fifty-five to Beyoncé! Thank you, your Majesty, what about sixty? Sixty to Bill Gates, Barnes, you gonna jump back in?”

 

“Eighty!” Bucky yells.

 

“Eighty thousand Benjamins!” Stark answers. “Might I remind you this car does not actually fly, ladies and germs? Do I hear eighty-five? I do! Bill Gates really wants this car, Barnes, what have you got to say?”

 

“Suck my dick,” Bucky mutters, sticking his hand up. “Ninety!”

 

Steve starts laughing into his hand.

 

“Ninety thousand from Barnes!” Stark calls. “Bill? How about it? No? That’s ninety thousand from Barnes, going once, going twice. Anybody else? I promise, the Bratva will not come for you if you beat Barnes’s bid! Going three times! Sold to the Godfather!”

 

Steve applauds with the rest of the guests. Bucky turns to him, eyebrows raised, and smiles.

 

“I have a flying car,” he says when the applause dies.

 

“That can’t actually fly,” Steve sniggers. “You sure you don’t want to marathon _Star Wars_ tomorrow?”

 

“Yep,” Bucky says, pushing back his chair.

 

“Lot something or other!” Stark is calling. “A really, really ugly porcelain dog that Pepper had to bribe me not to just smash because apparently, it’s worth a shit-ton. Starting at ten grand!”

 

“It’s eleven,” Bucky tells Steve. “Let’s go.”

 

Steve takes his hand and they get up. Bucky leads him through the crowd, meeting the distinguished Pepper Potts near the stage to write a check for the flying car and collect the necessary papers, then they make their way from the ballroom. Natasha and Clint meet them at the exit and Bucky turns, not back towards the front doors, but through the building around back. There’s additional security there and on the street, Steve sees both ends of the street blocked off by chains and security.

 

There are two cars waiting for them. The stretch they’d arrived in and a black sports car.

 

“Have a good night, guys,” Bucky says to Natasha and Clint as they head for the sports car.

 

“You two,” Clint calls, getting in the passenger side. Natasha doesn’t say a word as she gets in the driver’s side.

 

Bucky opens the car door for Steve. Steve gets in, then takes off his jacket and waistcoat. Bucky gets in next to him, shutting the door sharply, and leans forward to address Luke.

 

“Don’t worry about traffic,” he says. “Take back roads, avoid paparazzi.”

 

“You got it, boss,” Luke answers, starting the engine.

 

“And put up the partition,” Bucky adds.

 

The partition lifts. Steve slips off the bench before its even closed.

 

“Eager?” Bucky chuckles.

 

“Obviously,” Steve says, crawling between his knees. “You said I could suck you off, sir.”

 

Bucky threads a hand through his hair, the hairspray long since worn out. “Did I? You’ll have to refresh my memory, honey. What did I say you could have?”

 

“You said I could have your cock,” Steve answers.

 

“Is that exactly what I said?” Bucky asks. “I think you’re missing a few words, baby boy.”

 

Bucky starts tightening his grip, Steve sucks in a breath and thinks back.

 

“You said you wanted to see my red lips stretched around your cock,” Steve repeats from memory. He shifts on his knees to get closer, putting his hands on Bucky’s thighs. “Your fat cock, sir.”

 

“That is what I said,” Bucky says, his lips curling in a smile. “And what else did I say?”

 

“You’re gonna come down my throat. You don’t want to ruin my suit,” Steve answers. “But you’d love to ruin my makeup.”

 

“I’ll ruin it later,” Bucky tells him, then the hand not curled in his hair touches the choker around his neck. “I like these diamonds, babydoll, I want you to wear them until we go to bed.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers dutifully.

 

“Unbutton your shirt,” Bucky tells him. “And open your pants.”

 

Steve’s heart skips a beat. His fingers tremble a little, only a little, as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

 

“That’s it,” Bucky murmurs. “Don’t take it off, now. I just want to look at you.”

 

Steve pulls his shirt free of his trousers and undoes the last button. He pushes the tails of his shirt on either side of his hips, then releases his belt buckle.

 

“You look so pretty,” Bucky coos gently and yanks Steve upward by the hair at the same time. Steve gasps and grabs fistfuls of Bucky’s waistcoat, dizzy from the headrush. “There now,” Bucky says softly in his ear. His hand presses to Steve’s chest, his thumb and forefinger find Steve’s nipple through the satin and he pinches it. Steve hitches a breath, digging his fingers into Bucky’s abs. “Show me your panties,” Bucky continues, rolling the puckered bud of Steve’s nipple now. “Go on.”

 

Steve unclenches his fingers from Bucky’s waistcoat and reaches for the button of his trousers. He pops it free, then releases the zipper. He pushes the slacks down a little, just to get them lower on his hips, and Bucky releases his nipple to curl the hand around his hip.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky says, pulling Steve’s head back by his hair to expose his throat. Steve’s eyes fall shut and he gulps down air while Bucky nuzzles his neck. He swallows, his stretched throat making it difficult, and Bucky starts sucking at a spot partway down his neck.

 

Steve is content and pliant in Bucky’s control. Bucky’s hands are demanding and tender all at once, he bites and sucks and kisses down Steve’s neck, presses his lips to the cold gold of the diamond choker marking Steve his precious property, digs his thumb into the hollow of Steve’s hip just under the hem of his satin panties. Bucky, in all senses of the word, adores him, and Steve is more than happy to bathe in that adoration.

 

“My sweet boy,” Bucky says softly in his ear. “Prețiosul meu, amantu meu. You’re perfect, dragoste, dragă mea.”

 

Steve inhales shakily. There are words on the tip of his tongue.

 

“So beautiful,” Bucky murmurs. “So sweet and all mine, prețiosul.”

 

Steve bites the words off his tongue. There is only one four-letter word he is unwilling to say.

 

“Cred ca te iubesc,” Bucky says against his jaw, then his head tucks lower and his lips press against the scent gland in his neck and Steve sucks in yet another breath. “Nu pot să-ți spun încă, dar cred că o fac.”

 

“What does that mean?” Steve whispers.

 

“Something nice,” Bucky promises. He kisses Steve’s scent gland and lifts his head, his hand slipping from Steve’s hair to cup his jaw. “Look at me.”

 

Steve opens his eyes, looking directly into Bucky’s icy blue eyes. Their faces are inches apart. Steve can feel Bucky’s breath falling on his neck.

 

“I’ll tell you soon,” Bucky says. His thumb sweeps over Steve’s cheek. His eyes flick over Steve’s face, going from his lips to his eyes and back; he lets out a very quiet breath and cups Steve’s cheek more tenderly. “Te iubesc,” he murmurs. “Nu știu ce aș face fără tine. Stiu că e prea devreme și eu sunt un laș să nu-ți spun că într-o limbă pe care o poți înțelege, dar te iubesc.”

 

“Te iubesc,” Steve repeats clumsily, sensing the importance of those words in particular. “What does that mean?”

 

Bucky cups the back of his head and tips their foreheads together. His eyes stay open, so Steve doesn’t shut his. There is something that is neither predatory nor possessive in Bucky’s wolf’s eyes, and somehow, even though Steve doesn’t know what it is, it is more thrilling than any other way Bucky has looked at him. It’s somehow both honest and hidden, guarded and open. It takes his breath away. It almost frightens him with how raw it is.

 

“I’ll tell you eventually,” Bucky says. “Not yet. Trust me.”

 

Steve searches the unknown quantity in his eyes for a moment. Then he nods. He lurches forward and crashes their lips together, Bucky’s fingers dig both into the back of his neck and the crest of his hip. Steve grabs his shirt and crumples it under his fingers, clinging to Bucky in every sense of the word. There are words on the tip of his tongue and Steve willfully lets them be swept away by Bucky’s kiss.

 

They don’t get around to Steve blowing Bucky. Bucky pulls him into his lap and his hands roam Steve’s body, covering him in his scent in a way that still isn’t predatory or possessive. The kiss tastes hungry and Steve is leaking around his plug at last. They stop just before the limo enters the parking garage and only because Steve has to fix his clothes, and even while he’s doing it, Bucky watches him with familiar hunger in his eyes.

 

Honestly, as Steve’s re-doing the buttons of his shirt, he’s glad to recognize hunger in Bucky’s eyes. He knows the predator, the wolf under Bucky’s desires, not the raw honesty that may as well be Romanian for all Steve can translate it.

 

“I want to show you something when we get upstairs,” Bucky tells him, just as Steve feels the car going into park. “And I’d like to try wax play with you, sweet boy.”

 

“I wanna try it,” Steve assures him, reaching back out for another kiss. Bucky lets him, but doesn’t let it deepen. Steve holds onto Bucky's shoulders, leaning into his chest. “Are you going to let me go into subspace?”

 

Bucky brushes the hair out of his eyes with one hand and covers one of Steve’s with the other. “I’m a little apprehensive,” he admits. “But I think that’s more my issue. Do you think you’re ready?”

 

“What are you worried about?” Steve asks instead of answering him.

 

The car’s engine dies. Bucky brushes at Steve's hair again, then cups the back of his neck and kisses his forehead.

 

“We’ll talk inside,” Bucky says. “I’m gonna carry you again, alright?”

 

“Sure,” Steve agrees.

 

Steve leans back on the car bench, picking up his jacket and waistcoat, as Bucky opens the door and takes a second to stretch. Steve hears his spine pop and winces sympathetically. He gets out, rolling his neck and pulling at his shoulders, then steps in front of Bucky and holds out his arms. Bucky smiles at him and lifts him around the middle, almost hugging him. Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist and Bucky hooks his hands under his thighs to hold him, cradling him like he’s precious. Steve lets his cheek rest on Bucky’s shoulder and shuts his eyes.

 

“Thank you for all your help, Luke,” Bucky says above Steve. “Why don’t you take the weekend off?”

 

“No arguments here, boss,” Luke responds.

 

“See you Monday, then,” Buck adds, and begins to walk.

 

Steve tucks his face into Bucky’s neck, breathing in his scent. Bucky shifts him briefly a minute later to release one arm, then wraps it around his back and curls the other hand further under Steve’s ass. Steve hears a ding, the elevator door, then Bucky moves again.

 

“Evening, Linda,” Bucky says.

 

Steve lifts his head and is astonished to see a woman, short and with a massive head of tight curls, operating the elevator rather than the usual bored-face basic white man.

 

“Good evening, Mr. Barnes,” Linda replies cheerfully, selecting the 95th floor and entering a security code. Steve doesn’t know why he’s surprised, of course the elevator operators have shifts, but he’s so used to the generic white guy that this rosy-faced woman is just weird. “Did you have a pleasant night out?” Linda asks conversationally.

 

“We did, thank you,” Bucky answers. “My Omega’s pretty tired, though.”

 

Steve blushes and hides his face again, smiling to himself. He’s Bucky’s Omega. That makes him happier than it should.

 

“I can see,” Linda laughs. “One too many glass of wine?”

 

“Something like that,” Bucky says.

 

“Make sure you get him to drink plenty of water,” Linda advises. Steve decides he likes this chatty woman. She should operate the elevator more often than the generic white guy. “And a bit of food before you turn in will help metabolize all that wine.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” Bucky answers, then gently shakes Steve. “You hungry, honey?”

 

“Uh-uh,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Not even a little bit?” Bucky chuckles.

 

“Nope,” Steve says. He doesn’t want _food,_ he wants whatever plan Bucky has as long as it ends with him getting dicked. It’s been a whole twenty-four hours, which is much too long in Steve’s book.

 

Bucky laughs softly again, shrugging. “We’ll see,” he says.

 

“I’d keep some Advil on hand just in case,” Linda recommends.

 

“Probably a good idea,” Bucky agrees.

 

“I didn’t have that much wine,” Steve grumbles into Bucky’s neck. He had the martini, a glass of champagne with the first three courses, then two miniscule glasses of the dessert wine; it was spread out over two and a half hours, so really, it wasn’t that much. For his size, he’s surprisingly not a lightweight.

 

“I know, honey,” Bucky says, chuckling again.

 

“She’s cute,” Linda laughs.

 

“She’s a he,” Steve says, lifting his head up. “Thanks.”

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Linda answers quickly. “I saw the makeup and – I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine, it happens all the time,” Steve answers automatically, but she probably doesn’t get his vine reference. Little that he minds. He puts his face back in Bucky’s neck and shuts his eyes. He’s gonna take off his makeup before they do anything, six hours is long enough to have popping highlighter.

 

“I’m very sorry,” Linda continues to apologize. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

 

“Don’ worry about it,” Steve says, his voice muffled.

 

“It’s alright,” Bucky adds.

 

Steve hears Linda blowing out her breath and realizes that she was probably more worried about Bucky being offended on his behalf than Steve himself. Which, he thinks to himself, is a both annoying and endearing.

 

The elevator dings. Bucky begins to walk and Linda calls: “Have a good night!” after them.

 

“Are you actually not hungry?” Bucky asks him, but when Steve peeks out from his neck, he’s heading for the stairs.

 

“Not really,” Steve says.

 

“I want you to drink a glass of water before we do anything,” Bucky tells him. “How sober are you?”

 

“Pretty good,” Steve answers. “I hold my liquor well, sir.”

 

“Good,” Bucky replies. He slips the hand from his ass away and Steve lets his feet fall to the floor. “How tired are you?”

 

“Twoish,” Steve says, squinting as he thinks about it. “It’s, what, half-past eleven?”

 

Bucky checks his watch. “Quarter to midnight.”

 

“I’m usually up until four Friday nights,” Steve tells him, then stretches and lifts onto his toes while he pulls his arms up. “I wanna shower,” he decides.

 

“After,” Bucky says.

 

“Fair,” Steve replies. “But face and teeth first.”

 

“Fair,” Bucky echoes. He slips a hand under Steve’s chin and lifts his face, smiling at him. “Your lipstick’s not even smudged.”

 

“Remind me to put this stuff on before the next time I blow you,” Steve tells him casually, “I really wanna know if it’s tough enough to survive that.”

 

“Alright,” Bucky chuckles, then bends and kisses him. “Wash up, water, then I’m going to show you the closet.”

 

Steve looks over his shoulder at the second set of French doors in the room. “Oh,” he says. “What’s in it?”

 

“You’ll see,” Bucky says, kissing his cheek. “C’mon, I wanna change.”

 

Steve nods and follows Bucky into the bathroom. Bucky tosses his suit jacket into a hamper, so Steve puts his jacket and waistcoat into it, too. He sits down onto the toilet to take off his shoes, then undresses economically down to his lingerie and lifts his dressing gown off the back of the bathroom door. Bucky’s stripped down to his boxers when Steve turns around and is already brushing his teeth. Steve takes out his earrings and puts them in the box he’d left there earlier for them, where his cufflinks already are, then gets makeup removing wipes from the shelf over the toilet and hip checks Bucky lightly to get more space in the mirror. Bucky bumps his hip back and Steve makes a face at him. Bucky laughs, then kisses his cheek sloppily. Steve shoves him off, groaning at the mess of toothpaste on his face.

 

“‘S a good look on you,” Bucky says around his toothbrush, smirking at the white smudges on Steve’s face.

 

“Caveman,” Steve complains under his breath, dabbing it off with a hand towel. He uses three and a half wipes to get all his makeup off, and his lips are still stained red once he’s gotten the lipstick off. He splashes his face with water, washes it, and grabs his toothbrush.

 

Bucky leans a hip against the countertop, his arms crossed over his chest, and just watches Steve with a smile. Steve glances at him once or twice, then stops and takes his toothbrush out.

 

“Wha’?” he asks thickly.

 

“You’re cute,” Bucky answers simply.

 

“I know,” Steve responds, then resumes brushing his teeth.

 

Bucky laughs yet again, frames his waist with his hands, and kisses his temple, tipping Steve over with it. Steve waves him off, bends and spits into the sink. He uses the same cup Bucky did to rinse, then wipes his mouth off and takes the time to apply toner before moisturizer.

 

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and drops his forehead into his hair. “Precious,” he murmurs, then kisses his hair. Steve, smiling, turns around and lifts onto his toes to wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck.

 

“You’re sweet,” he says.

 

“I’m just stating the obvious,” Bucky answers, a grin stretching his lips.

 

“So am I,” Steve tells him. He lifts as far as he can and Bucky ducks to meet him halfway in a light kiss. “You’re amazing,” Steve says when they separate. “I don’t say that enough.”

 

Bucky grins and touches their foreheads together. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says quietly.

 

“There’s no need to thank me for pointing out the obvious,” Steve uses Bucky’s words against him.

 

Bucky laughs softly, then squeezes his waist and lets go. “I’ll bring up water,” he says, stepping back. “Wait for me on the bed.”

 

Bucky turns, leaving the bedroom in just his boxers. Steve watches him go happily, letting out a soft sigh like a lovesick fool, and walks out to drop onto the bed. He lies back, his legs slipping free of the white satin bathrobe as he puts his feet on the bed, and lays his arms above his head.

 

Steve shuts his eyes, then rolls over and crawls farther up the bed to the pillows. He grabs Bucky’s and hugs it to his chest, breathing in deeply and enjoying the traces of him on it. He hears Bucky’s footsteps but stays where he is, just breathing.

 

Bucky puts a hand at his shoulder and Steve sits up, taking the glass of water Bucky holds out to him with a soft _thanks._ He gulps from it, then puts the pillow back behind him and leans back to keep drinking. Bucky sits down at his feet, his own glass of water in hand, and sets a hand on Steve’s shin.

 

“I love this set you got on,” Bucky says, running his hand up Steve’s shin to his knee, then around and down his thigh to his hip. “So I do not want to mess it up with wax.”

 

“Good plan,” Steve answers. “I don’t want to mess it up either, it’s really comfortable for lingerie.”

 

“You haven’t played with wax before, right?” Bucky asks. Steve shakes his head. “It’s fairly simple. You lie down, I’m gonna apply baby oil to the skin I’ll be pouring wax on to make it easier to remove, then I pour. It’s not a good idea to mix wax and hair, so how about you lie on your back and I do your legs?”

 

“Sure,” Steve says, “only, I’m pretty hairless right now.”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “How hairless?”

 

“Everything has been waxed,” Steve laughs. “Well, not my balls, I’m not enough of a masochist to wax them, I shaved them.”

 

Bucky’s eyebrows lift further. He grins, then holds up a finger and takes a gulp of water. Steve copies him, drinking half of what’s in his glass.

 

“Okay,” Bucky says, sounding _much_ too excited and Steve is _very_ intrigued. “What do you think of dripping wax on your dick?”

 

Steve’s mouth falls open. His cheeks heat up. Bucky continues grinning.

 

“Ohmygod,” Steve whispers. He squirms a little, sitting up straighter. “Yes? Maybe not right away, I don’t know, but I’m not against it.”

 

“No, not right away,” Bucky agrees. His hand slides back up Steve’s thigh, coming to rest on top of it. “But it’s an experience.”

 

Steve bites his lip. He puts down his water and shifts onto his knees, draping his elbows over Bucky’s shoulders.

 

“Can I ask something?” he says quietly.

 

“Of course you can,” Bucky says, a hand touching his hip.

 

“Were you always the dom?” Steve asks.

 

“No,” Bucky answers. He curls the hand at his up around to wrap around his waist. “I started out a sub, but once I got to dom, I didn’t want to go back. I like it better.”

 

“I like this, too,” Steve says quickly. “I just was curious.”

 

“I’d never try something with you that I hadn’t done to myself already,” Bucky assures him. “I have put wax on my dick and it’s pretty good, even with my preferences.”

 

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Steve explains. “I know you know your stuff. I just was curious… How you got into all this?”

 

Bucky smiles and leans past Steve to put down his water. Then he frames Steve’s face with his hands and kisses his nose.

 

“Same way I got into the mafia,” he says simply. “You were talking to Sam.”

 

“A little,” Steve admits, smiling.

 

“I wised up while I was with Alyosha,” Bucky tells him. “He was a shitty dom, y’know? I found out that half the stuff we were doing was unsafe in a way that had to be deliberate and it was a major wake up call.”

 

“You know one of the things that I really like about you?” Steve asks him, dropping his hands to Bucky’s clavicle.

 

“What?” Bucky responds easily, his eyes crinkling at the corner. Steve kisses him quickly.

 

“You ask what my safewords are before everything,” Steve says against his lips. “Because you give a damn. You know who didn’t?”

 

Bucky lets out a short breath and shakes his head. “Who?”

 

“Aleksei Seyrbakov, junior,” Steve tells him firmly. “I’m very good at detecting genuine pieces’a shit, and I can tell he’s a piece’a shit from Russia.”

 

Bucky’s smile grows and he combs through Steve’s hair with both hands, then brings him in for a kiss. “Thank you for saying that, dragoste,” he murmurs.

 

“You’re nothing like that guy,” Steve promises.

 

“I try not to be,” Bucky says. “I worry, sometimes.”

 

Steve pecks his lips again. “Did he ask what your safewords were before every scene?”

 

Slowly, Bucky shakes his head.

 

“There,” Steve says. “You’re nothing like him.”

 

Bucky picks up one of Steve’s hands and holds it against his chest, just holds it. “Te iubesc,” he says quietly.

 

“I’m gonna assume you just told me that I’m right as usual,” Steve replies. Bucky just laughs. “What, you won’t tell me what that means, I gotta make it up!”

 

Bucky pulls him into a kiss, parting with a smile.

 

“Can I go into subspace tonight?” Steve asks again.

 

“If you’re ready,” Bucky says.

 

“Are you?” Steve presses.

 

Bucky tips his head to the side. Then he smiles a little wider and caresses his cheek. “Now I am,” he says.

 

“Then let’s do it,” Steve says. He reaches up and cups Bucky’s face with a hand, too, kissing him quickly. “We’re having a day at home tomorrow, right?”

 

“Yep,” Bucky says. He squeezes Steve’s hand, then gets up. “Finish your water,” he says, heading for the closet.

 

Steve leans over, grabs his glass, and gulps down what’s left in it. He puts it down and jumps up to follow Bucky. He grabs Bucky’s elbow, holding onto him, as Bucky pulls open the French doors. He reaches inside and flips a lightswitch, and Steve lets out a low breath.

 

“That’s a lot of leather,” he says.

 

“I keep all my kink stuff in here,” Bucky explains, walking inside. “Your collars are there,” he says, pointing to a shelf just inside the doors at eye level for Steve. Steve slips inside, lifting onto his toes to look at his slut and babydoll collars on the sleek black shelf. “You can come in here whenever you want and bring me anything you want to try; if it’s too advanced for you, I probably have an easier version.”

 

Steve lifts a long-handled flogger from a wooden pegboard and feels the leather between his fingers. “I wanna try these,” he says.

 

Bucky turns and lets out a short laugh, taking it from him. “Not tonight,” he says, “and not that one, not at first. You want this one –” He picks up a similar leather flogger, but with far more and wider tails. “It’s softer, the falls are heavier so it’ll be more of a thuddy pain than stingy.”

 

“I don’t know if I like stingy pain,” Steve says.

 

“Ergo, this one,” Bucky lifts the flogger one more time before hanging it back up. “Over here, baby.”

 

Steve follows him to a short chest of drawers. Bucky kneels, then pulls out the bottom drawer. Steve lets out an involuntary whimper at the range of anal plugs Bucky has.

 

“You can use any of these plugs whenever you want,” Bucky tells him, “there’s a solution to clean them in the top drawer, always clean them first, no matter how little time has passed since it was last cleaned. Just remember your rules and don’t touch yourself when put it in.”

 

He shuts the drawer, then opens the one above. It’s full of dildos.

 

“You’ll have to ask before you use these,” Bucky says, “rule one and all. Most of these vibrate, but some of them are for my fucking machine, like this one.”

 

He picks up a realistic dildo of impressive length; it’s soft when Steve touches it and the veins are very accurate. In the base, there’s a threaded metal grip, clearly meant to screw into something. It also looks familiar.

 

“This is actually made from a mold of me,” Bucky admits. “That one is, too.” He points to another dildo, minus the metal grip.

 

“You have a fucking machine?” Steve asks simply.

 

Bucky twists around and points to the far end of the closet, where a folded up contraption sits on a bottom shelf.

 

“It can go on that massage table or on a special set of sawhorses,” Bucky says. “We’re gonna use the massage table for tonight, by the way.”

 

Bucky puts down the fucking machine attachment and Steve picks up the normal dildo customized to Bucky’s actual dick.

 

“I’ll get to use this while you’re away?” he guesses.

 

“That’s the intention,” Bucky says.

 

“Awesome,” Steve says.

 

Bucky laughs. He takes the dildo from Steve and puts it away, shutting the drawer. He opens the next one, revealing an array of cock cages and the ring he’d bought at Dear John’s.

 

“We’ll build up to these,” he says, shutting it again.

 

The drawer above has bottles of lube, oil, and cleaning solutions. Bucky picks up a bottle of regular baby oil, then pushes himself up with the chest of drawers. Steve stands up, looking around more, as Bucky lifts a folded massage table from the wall and slips past him. Steve wanders deeper, looking at shelves of ropes and leather restraints.

 

He reaches the back wall and stops, looking at it. There’s nothing on the back wall, just the paneled sideboard.

 

“Why is this space empty?” Steve asks, turning around.

 

Bucky nears; he puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, then reaches past him to touch a natural dark spot in the sideboard. Steve’s jaw drops as the sideboard hisses, then slides back and glides out of the way. There’s a stairwell behind it.

 

“This goes to the pantry in the kitchen and the old service stairwell,” Bucky says calmly. “The service stairwell is blocked off on all other levels and isn’t on the blueprints.”

 

“You have a secret passage!” Steve whispers. “That’s so cool!”

 

“I’m glad you think so,” Bucky says, dropping a kiss onto his cheek. “You ready?”

 

Steve leans forward to peer down the stairwell, then nods and pulls back. Bucky reaches into the crevice the sideboard had slid into, presses the edge of the sideboard itself, and it closes, silent and quick. Steve is very impressed. Bucky grabs what looks like a canvas drop cloth and a sheet as he exits the closet and Steve follows behind him, returning to the bed and sitting down on the edge. He watches Bucky spread out the drop cloth, then set up the massage table and cover it with the sheet. Steve stands up and wanders over, touching the sheet; it’s rougher cotton, but stained with old wax already.

 

“Before we start, are you allergic to any topical substances?” Bucky asks, stepping back into the closet.

 

“No, but I have pretty sensitive skin,” Steve says. He unties his bathrobe, slipping it off and laying it on the bed. “Salicylic acid irritates my skin.”

 

“Are you allergic to soy?” Bucky asks, opening a middle drawer on a tall, skinny dresser.

 

“No,” Steve says.

 

Bucky pulls out two thick candles, weighs them in his hands, puts them back and takes out a different one. “We’ll go with red,” he says, shutting the drawer. He picks up the bottle of baby oil he’d taken from the chest of drawers with all his sex toys and walks back out, setting both on the massage table. He goes back in and comes back with a fire extinguisher, which he puts off to the side.

 

Steve stands by the table and bounces on his toes, his hands folded behind his back. The table is level with his waist, but slightly lower than Bucky’s hips. Steve has excited suspicions about the set height of the table.

 

“What’d’ya say we put something a lil’ bigger in your ass?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve grins. “You wanna hook me up to the fucking machine?”

 

“Not tonight,” Bucky laughs. “I got an idea.”

 

He ducks back into the closet once again. He opens the middle drawer on the chest of drawers, and pulls out a fabric-lined box. Bucky walks up to him and pops the hook latching the box shut, then lifts the lid. Steve leans in and whistles appreciatively. There are precisely seven glass dildos inside, all crystal clear and gleaming in the bedroom lights. Two have rings at the ends, two are double ended, two are curved and ribbed, one even has a heart for a grip at its end.

 

“Won’t be too difficult to get wax off these,” Bucky says happily. “You can pick the one you want, baby.”

 

Steve bites his lip and waves a hand over the box as he evaluates the toys. Ultimately, he picks up the heart-gripped wand. He hands it to Bucky with a smile and shuts the box.

 

“You’re adorable,” Bucky chuckles, grabbing his waist and kissing his cheek. “I want to undress you. Hop up on the table.”

 

Bucky takes the box and the glass toy away, putting the box back in the closet as Steve climbs onto the table. Bucky exits the closet with another bottle tucked under his arm and wiping the glass wand off with an alcohol swab. He puts the toy on the bed, then the second bottle, and takes the candle and bottle of baby oil off the table.

 

“No slights on your natural slick, but I prefer to use lube with glass,” Bucky tells him, digging in his nightstand drawer and coming up with a Zippo lighter.

 

“Not the baby oil,” Steve says quickly.

 

“No, not that,” Bucky agrees. He picks up the second bottle he’d brought from the closet, holding it out to him. “This stuff, put a little on your arm.”

 

“Why?” Steve asks, but takes it and pops the cap, squeezing it onto his forearm.

 

“Make sure it won’t cause a reaction,” Bucky says.

 

“Oh,” Steve says. He puts the cap back on the bottle and hands it back, then smooths the dollop on his arm out. “Smart,” he adds.

 

“Any reactions to baby oil?” Bucky asks. Steve shakes his head, looks at his shiny finger and wipes it on the sheet. Bucky walks up to him and takes his arm, looking at the patch of lube on his skin.

 

“Give it a few minutes,” he says, then frames Steve’s waist in his hands and lifts him off the table. “Let me look at you.”

 

Steve steps away from the table and lifts his arms over his head, striking a pose. Bucky laughs softly and taps a finger under his chin, then begins to circle him. Steve relaxes the pose, tucking his hands behind his head as Bucky crosses behind him.

 

“Does this clasp in the front?” Bucky asks him, tugging on the strap of his bralette.

 

“Yes,” Steve says.

 

Bucky’s hands settle at his waist, then slip around to the hooks holding his garter in place.

 

“I like this one,” he says, releasing a single hook. “Simple yet striking. I think my slut should wear red more often.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve murmurs.

 

Bucky stops unhooking the garter skirt, then slides his hands slowly around to his sides and down to his hips.

 

“These pantyhose,” Bucky continues, his thumbs curling around the back of his thighs, “are gorgeous. I like them better than any you’ve worn so far. They look like you just got a line down the backs of your legs, baby boy, with nothin’ else on.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky unhooks the straps at the backs of his thighs, then curls his hands around to unhook the front straps. His hands push between Steve’s thighs and Steve widens his stance to accommodate.

 

“This color makes your blush stand out,” Bucky says in his ear. “You look like a pretty little virgin, baby.”

 

“Yeah?” Steve says, his heart skipping a beat.

 

“You’re tight enough to be one,” Bucky answers, tipping his head in so Steve can see his dark eyes in the edges of his vision. “How about we play pretend tonight, baby boy? You wanna be a blushing virgin?”

 

Steve swallows hard. He nods hard. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

 

“Where are your manners, sweet boy?” Bucky asks, his lips touching Steve’s ear now. “Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?”

 

Steve feels his stomach swoop and he nods. “Please,” he says obediently, then steels himself. “I wanna be your good little boy, sir,” he says quietly.

 

“My good little boy?” Bucky asks, but with less heat. “You want me to treat you like that?”

 

“A little bit,” Steve confesses. “I’m a lot younger than you…”

 

He trails off, confused about how to phrase it.

 

“How little?” Bucky presses gently.

 

“Not little little,” Steve says. “But… young?”

 

“You’re already fairly young,” Bucky says. “You gotta be specific here, sweetheart.”

 

“Do you mind?” Steve asks, worried.

 

“No,” Bucky answers calmly, bumping his cheek against Steve’s ear and temple in a sweet gesture. “I just gotta know how young you wanna be.”

 

Steve bites his lip. “Barely legal?” he suggests.

 

Bucky lets out a short laugh behind him. “Barely legal,” he repeats, sounding both amazed and amused. “So, a fresh-faced young boy, corrupted by a much older man?”

 

“Yes,” Steve agrees. He presses closer Bucky’s body, needing the contact, and Bucky hugs him from behind, nuzzling the side of his head again. “That’s it.”

 

“Then that’s what we’ll pretend,” Bucky agrees.

 

He kisses the diamond choker around Steve’s neck, picks up his arm and checks the patch of lube on his skin, then wipes it off; Steve hasn’t reacted to it by then, he won’t react to it at all.

 

“Do you want to be my innocent young boy, then?” Bucky asks him.

 

“Yes,” Steve says quickly.

 

“A good boy who’s never been touched?” Bucky asks, and his hands return to his garter skirt again, resuming unhooking it. “Now, if you’ve never been touched, you might be frightened by the size of my cock and I don’t want my sweet boy to be worried about how it’s gonna fit in his little ass. I’ll use that glass toy on you first.”

 

“Okay,” Steve agrees easily. Bucky pulls the garter skirt off and sets it aside.

 

“You’ve never even touched yourself, have you, pretty boy?” Bucky asks him. His hands settle on Steve’s waist.

 

“No, sir,” Steve answers immediately.

 

“You’ve never felt pleasure before, then?” Bucky murmurs. “So I’ll have to make your first time extra special.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve says.

 

Bucky’s hands slide back to his thighs. He slips the pantyhose from each of his legs and Steve steps out of them. When Bucky stands, he takes Steve’s shoulders and turns him around.

 

“Don’t be nervous, sweet thing,” Bucky tells him, taking the tail of the bow covering the clasp of his bralette and tugging on it. “I’ll be real good to you.”

 

“Will it hurt?” Steve asks innocently, blinking up at him.

 

Bucky pulls him forward by the strings on his bra and cups his jaw. “Oh, sweet boy,” Bucky murmurs, “of course it’ll hurt.”

 

Steve bites down on his lip, his stomach soaring again.

 

“It’ll feel good at the same time,” Bucky tells him. “You won’t be able to tell the difference between the pleasure and the pain.”

 

“You’ll take good care of me?” Steve asks.

 

“Of course,” Bucky promises. “I’ll always take good care of you, sweet boy.”

 

“Kiss me?” Steve asks, dropping his gaze to Bucky’s mouth.

 

Bucky leans down and does, gentle at first, then his arm curls around Steve’s waist and he pushes his tongue into his mouth. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and complies to his encompassing grip, letting his spine be bent back by the force of Bucky’s kiss. He whimpers into Bucky’s mouth and Bucky growls back in answer, his fingers digging into the small of Steve’s back.

 

Then Bucky breaks the kiss and Steve is left panting, only partly to play along in his role. Bucky curls a finger under the clasp holding Steve’s bralette closed and pops it open.

 

Steve feels heat rise to his cheeks and Bucky’s lip curls in a predatory smirk. Steve blushes harder for it and Bucky releases the clasp fully.

 

“Nobody’s even looked at you, have they?” Bucky asks, holding the bralette in place.

 

Steve shakes his head. Bucky’s smirk grows and he pushes the cups of the bralette aside, revealing Steve’s hardened nipples to the air.

 

“Look at you,” Bucky murmurs. “Such pretty little tits, sweet thing.”

 

Steve sucks in a breath, biting his lip. Bucky’s eyes drift over Steve’s exposed body, his gaze dark. Predatory. Steve can see the wolf licking its chops.

 

“Do you want me to touch your tits?” Bucky asks, pulling the bralette off of him and tossing it onto the bed.

 

“Please,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Use your words, sweet boy,” Bucky encourages. “Tell me what you want.”

 

“Please touch my tits,” Steve says with a furious blush; he can’t even meet Bucky’s eyes. Pretending to be innocent and corruptible has him feeling more like a shy virgin than when he actually lost his virginity.

 

(Then, he’d told Brock to shut up and stick it in him before he turned into a 40-year-old virgin. It wasn’t really that difficult for Steve to feel even the slightest bit more bashful than when he’d actually lost his virginity.)

 

Bucky’s palm settles on his ribs, then slides up and his thumb brushes Steve’s nipple. “So lovely,” he says softly. “Your nipples are such a pretty pink against your skin, sweet boy.”

 

“That feels good,” Steve breathes out, blurting it out like no one had touched his chest before.

 

“Does it?” Bucky asks, his teeth flashing like pearls and gold as he smiles. Steve can’t wait for them to sink into his skin. “How does it make you feel?”

 

“Good,” Steve says dumbly.

 

“Does it make you feel hot?” Bucky asks, massaging his thumb over Steve’s nipple. He reaches up with both hands and gently pinches each of his nipples between a thumb and forefinger and Steve lets out a little gasp. “Does it make your little cock feel good?”

 

Steve nods quickly.

 

“Does it make your hole tighten up?” Bucky asks in a low whisper. Steve clenches on the soft plug and nods again. “Does it make you feel wet?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles.

 

“I bet your little hole gets wet all the time,” Bucky goes on quietly. “Boys your age get horny at a breeze, don’t they?”

 

“Yes,” Steve agrees shyly.

 

“What do you do when you get wet?” Bucky asks him, rolling Steve’s nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

 

“Nothing, sir,” Steve says, then gets an idea and he gives Bucky a particularly innocent look, nodding resolutely. “It’s a sin to touch yourself.”

 

Bucky slowly grins. “Oh, is it?” he asks. “And do you truly believe that?”

 

“Of course, sir,” Steve says. “But…”

 

“But what?” Bucky presses.

 

“I’ve wanted to,” Steve says, biting his lip. “I’ve never been brave enough to do it.”

 

“But you’re being very brave now,” Bucky tells him, “letting an older man show you what feels good. Do you want me to touch your wet hole?”

 

Steve just nods.

 

“Why don’t you tell me what you want?” Bucky pushes. “Let me hear it from your innocent lips, sweet boy.”

 

Steve squeezes his legs together. His panties feel damp despite the plug. “I want you to touch me,” he murmurs. “I want you to make me feel good.”

 

“Good boy,” Bucky answers softly. He stops rolling Steve’s nipples and touches his hips instead, his hands curling around the sides of Steve’s panties. “Would you like me to take this off?”

 

“Please, sir,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky pushes the garment down his hips. Steve somehow manages to blush about it, again, perhaps it’s just the game they’re playing that’s made him go genuinely shy, but he’s feeling demure and showing it. Bucky kneels to pull his panties down and Steve takes his shoulders to step out of them, then hugs himself where he stands, naked in front of Bucky.

 

“Look how pretty you are,” Bucky coos, his hands sliding up Steve’s legs as he stands again; his hands are so warm, they leave goosebumps rising in their wake. “You have a very pretty cock, Stevie.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve mumbles quietly.

 

“I bet your little hole will be prettier,” Bucky says, taking his shoulders. “Especially once I get my fingers in it.”

 

“Your fingers?” Steve asks, playing dumb.

 

“I’ll have to open you up,” Bucky tells him. “Your cunt will be too tight for the toy, let alone my fat cock.”

 

Steve swallows. His mouth is suddenly dry. “My… cunt?”

 

“Your hole,” Bucky says. “You don’t mind me calling it a cunt, do you, sweet boy?”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows, too, and Steve figures this is his chance to say _no_ to that. He shakes his head instead.

 

“There,” Bucky says. He pushes back on Steve’s shoulders and Steve stumbles a bit, his back hitting the massage table. “I’m going to play with you now,” Bucky tells him with a wolfish smirk curling his lip. “What do you say if you need me to stop right away?”

 

“Brooklyn,” Steve answers.

 

“What do you say if you need a break?” Bucky continues.

 

“Jersey,” Steve recites.

 

“And what do you do if you can’t speak?”

 

Steve raises his hand and taps it against Bucky’s bicep three times. Bucky takes his chin in hand and kisses his forehead.

 

“Good boy,” he says. “Are you ready for me to play with you?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky picks him up and sets him on the table. “Lie down on your back,” he says.

 

Steve pulls his legs onto the sheet-covered table and lies back. The pendant of his choker falls against his neck and the point of it in the dip of his clavicle is cold. He adjusts himself, getting more comfortable, and Bucky leans over him to comb through his hair with a hand.

 

“One is good to keep going and five is stop,” Bucky tells him. “I’m going to put oil on you so the wax is easier to take off. What’s your number?”

 

“One,” Steve says. Bucky sweeps through his hair again, then kisses his shoulder and steps away. Steve draws in a deep breath and resettles himself again, puts his hands flat on the table, then lifts his arms and tucks them under his neck, trying to get more comfortable.

 

“You want to get wax under your arms?” Bucky asks him, entering his vision again.

 

Steve looks at his armpit, then lays his arms down by his sides. Bucky gives him a smile, then pops the cap on the bottle.

 

“Is there anywhere you don’t want the wax at all?” Bucky asks, turning the bottle over into his palm.

 

Steve screws up his face to think about it. “My toes?” he says.

 

“No toes, then,” Bucky says. “I wanna drip it on your nipples. What’s your number?”

 

Steve sucks in a breath at the thought of the hot wax landing on his chest. “One,” he says. “I’m not afraid.”

 

Bucky smiles down at him. “Of course not, sweet boy,” he says and holds his hand over Steve’s stomach. “You’re very brave.”

 

He tips his hand to one side and the oil spills over the side. Steve tenses and sucks in a gasp, but the oil is warm, only startles him with the wet sensation. Bucky trails his hand up his body to his chest, then lowers it and smooths his palm over Steve’s flat breast.

 

“Does that feel good, pretty boy?” Bucky asks him quietly. Steve nods quickly. “Does it make your body feel good?”

 

“Yessir,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky smiles down at him in his predatory way and sweeps his hand down Steve’s ribs, then around and to his other breast, spreading the oil. He avoids Steve’s navel, probably because of his piercing, but smooths the oil over the rest of his torso. His hand dips down Steve’s hips and Steve barely remembers to be surprised by his hand so near his dick.

 

“Shh,” Bucky says when he gasps. He pours more oil into his palm, then spreads it over one of Steve’s legs, from his hip to his knee. “I’m going to make you feel very good, sweet boy.”

 

“Please, sir,” Steve says. “Please touch me.”

 

“I am touching you,” Bucky replies. He smooths oil over Steve’s other leg. “Or did you want me to touch somewhere specific?”

 

“Yes,” Steve says. “Please, my – my dick.”

 

“Is that what you want me to touch?” Bucky asks with a smirk. He runs his hand back up Steve’s leg, towards his groin, then stops abruptly just before it. “You want me to touch your pretty little dick?”

 

“Please,” Steve repeats.

 

“Do you know what will happen when I touch your cock?” Bucky asks him, closing the cap on the baby oil and tossing it back onto the bed. He puts an elbow on the table and looms over Steve, his hand still firmly on Steve’s thigh and his shadow on Steve’s face flickering with the candle’s light. “Do you know what will happen?” Bucky asks again, purring like he’s amused by Steve’s false naivety.

 

“I don’t know, sir,” Steve mumbles. “But it’ll feel good?”

 

“It will feel very good,” Bucky promises. His hand shifts an inch nearer suddenly and Steve sucks in a breath. “You’ve never felt anything like it before,” Bucky tells him in a hushed, conspiratorial voice. “It’ll be the best thing you’ve ever felt, sweet boy. You won’t want me to stop.”

 

“I don’t want you to stop,” Steve answers. “Don’t stop, sir, please, I – I want you to take me.”

 

“You want me to take you?” Bucky echoes, his lip curling at the corner. “You want me to have my way with you?”

 

Steve nods. Bucky smirks.

 

“Then I will,” he says.

 

Steve lets out a sharp gasp as Bucky grasps him; Bucky massages the oil on his palm into his skin, not touching the more sensitive parts of him, just the lower shaft and his balls. Bucky plays with him and Steve gasps in shuddering breaths and exhales like it’s the first time he’d been touched that way, while Bucky looks down at him with a hungry glint to his eye. He looks at Steve with the desire of a mature and virile Alpha touching a young and fertile Omega. Steve is convinced that this is better than anything he’s ever done in his life, better than anything Bucky had done to him so far. And they’re just starting.

 

Then Bucky lets go. Steve whimpers a bit, but then Bucky’s kissing him harshly. Steve grabs at his hair, pulls his legs back and squeezes them together; he can feel himself leaking around the plug. He can feel his slick oozing around the plug’s silicone, he can feel a drip forming, then he can feel it slip from his body. Steve’s core is trembling as he squeezes his thighs tightly together. He’s still dripping.

 

Bucky breaks the kiss and Steve is panting; he drops his legs and feels the sheet under him is wet. Bucky steps away again, then returns and pushes his leg up by the ankle.

 

“Legs up,” Bucky says and Steve plants his heels on the table.

 

Bucky fiddles with the table, Steve sits up in time to see him pull out a leaf from the end, unfolding it to let a stirrup fall out.

 

“Scoot down here,” Bucky tells him, moving around to the other side.

 

Steve shifts down the table until his feet are on the edge, and Bucky takes his feet and puts them in the stirrups, strapping them in.

 

“A little more,” Bucky says.

 

Steve scoots more, increasing the angle of his knees. Bucky comes to stand at the end of the table. He puts his hands on Steve’s thighs and raises his eyebrows at him, lip still curled in the wolfish smirk.

 

“Are you ready for me to play with your little cunt?” he asks.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve says.

 

Bucky’s hands trail inward. “I’m going to stretch you open with my fingers, then I’m going to push that glass toy into you. I’m going to play with your cunt while I drip the hot wax onto you, but I’m not going to let you climax. Do you know what I mean by that?”

 

Steve shakes his head. Bucky’s fingers get closer to his ass. Steve’s body sits on the table so his ass is almost on the edge, the leaves with the stirrups extended beyond the edge, and Bucky stands between his knees. The table is level with Bucky’s hips.

 

“As I play with your tight little cunt,” Bucky begins and Steve’s heart is pounding, “it will feel better and better. It will begin to feel so good, you won’t be able to think at all. It will feel so good, sweet boy, all you’ll want is more. And then it will get to its height and you’ll orgasm. You’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?”

 

“No, sir,” Steve mumbles sheepishly.

 

“You’ll get to orgasm with my cock in you,” Bucky tells him. “When I’m done playing with that glass toy in your cunt,” Bucky says, his grin growing – his one gold canine flashes at Steve –, “I’m gonna stick my dick in your hole.”

 

“Oh!” Steve gasps, like he hadn’t known that, like an innocent boy, he colors and covers his mouth with a hand and Bucky looks at him hungrily like a wolf before a kill so fresh it was still twitching. “But,” Steve whispers as he lowers his hand, “isn’t that a sin?”

 

“It is,” Bucky answers and his gold canine flashes again. “But it will feel wonderful, sweet boy.”

 

“You want me to sin?” Steve asks him.

 

“I want to ruin your innocence,” Bucky answers. He grips Steve’s ass with both hands and squeezes hard; Steve gasps again. “That way, no other man can have you. You’ll have to be mine from then on, baby boy.”

 

“You want me to become a whore?” Steve asks.

 

“I want you to be _my_ whore,” Bucky says darkly. “Once you’ve had my cock, baby, you’ll want it again and again and again.”

 

“I think –” Steve starts, then pauses to lick his lips, like he’s nervous. “I think I wanna be your whore, sir.”

 

“Good boy,” Bucky purrs.

 

Steve shudders at the praise. His tell-tale heart is beating a hammer in his chest. His core is trembling. He can still feel himself dripping.

 

“I’m going to put my fingers in your wet cunt, sweet boy,” Bucky says.

 

“Please,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky smiles predatorily at him.

 

Steve shuts his eyes and whimpers at the removal of the plug. He clenches involuntarily, feeling uncomfortably empty after having the plug in for so long. But it’s not long before the absence left by the plug is filled and Steve lets out a soft sigh.

 

“There,” Bucky says sweetly. “Does that feel good, baby boy?”

 

Steve nods.

 

“That’s hardly anything,” Bucky goes on. “That’s just one finger, imagine how good it will feel to have two.”

 

Bucky adds another finger and Steve gives another gasp.

 

“Your cunt is so wet, baby boy,” Bucky says. “You’re getting slick everywhere.”

 

“I don’t mean to,” Steve mumbles.

 

“It’s a good thing,” Bucky tells him. “It’ll make it easier to fuck you.”

 

Steve lets out another sharp breath when Bucky adds a third finger, and by then, he’s beginning to feel the stretch.

 

“You’re so tight,” Bucky murmurs. “Not much of a virgin anymore, are you?”

 

Steve quickly shakes his head. Bucky smirks at him and looks down; Steve blushes even more now that Bucky’s looking at him with that hungry glint.

 

“This is what will feel the best,” Bucky tells him, then crooks his fingers and hits Steve’s sweet spot. Steve genuinely gasps and arches off the table, throwing his arms back to curve his spine up and drive Bucky’s fingers deeper into him. “There,” Bucky purrs, “what a precious little slut you make, baby boy. One touch and you’re panting for it.”

 

“S–sir,” Steve whimpers.

 

“I bet you want more,” Bucky continues, pumping his fingers in and out now. “I bet you want to feel even better, don’t you, little whore?”

 

“Yes!” Steve answers. “Please, sir, yes!”

 

“You want me to put that toy in your tight cunt?” Bucky asks.

 

“Please,” Steve begs him.

 

Bucky slips his fingers free, but just as he does, the cold tip of the glass wand presses to him. Steve gives another real gasp at the cold touch, but it’s slipping into him and the cold shoots through his whole body. Goosebumps erupt anew over his flesh, his nipples are hard and sensitive enough that the air brushing them sends chills down his spine, his fingers clench and fist into the sheet over the table.

 

“Look at that,” Bucky murmurs, “I was worried your virgin cunt wouldn’t be able to take it all, sweet boy, but it fits perfectly. Do you feel it?”

 

Bucky twists it and Steve lets out a moan as it rubs against his P-spot.

 

“It gets better,” Bucky tells him. “You feel good now, but here –”

 

Bucky curls a hand around him then.

 

“Ah!” Steve cries. “S–sir!”

 

“Do you like being a slut?” Bucky asks. “Do you enjoy being a whore now, pretty boy?”

 

“Yessir!” Steve sighs.

 

“Are you my pretty whore?” Bucky asks, working both of his hands.

 

“Yessir, yes!” Steve answers hastily.

 

“Are you ready to make this even better, little slut?” Bucky asks. “Are you ready for the wax?”

 

Steve nods quickly. “Please, sir, please keep touching me.”

 

“Which do you want to keep?” Bucky says. “You get one. Which do you want?”

 

Steve bites hard on his lip as Bucky continues to twist his hands. “My – _God,_ my cunt, sir.”

 

“Good answer,” Bucky replies and releases his right hand. Steve still whimpers, but Bucky keeps thrusting the glass wand in and out of him. “Open your eyes, Stevie.”

 

Unaware of when he’d closed them, Steve forces his eyes open. Bucky is still standing between his knees, but now his right hand holds the thick, red candle. Wax drips down its side, cooling in the air and stopping halfway down its length. Steve licks his lips.

 

“What’s your number?” Bucky asks.

 

“One,” Steve breathes out.

 

Bucky holds the candle over his torso. Steve looks at it as Bucky tips it to the side, wax pools at the edge of the candle, slips, drips –

 

Steve gasps and sucks his stomach in as the wax drips onto his skin. It burns for a second, but immediately begins to cool.

 

“There,” Bucky says. “How do you feel, sweet thing?”

 

“Good,” Steve says. “I want more.”

 

Bucky tips the candle further. Wax streams from its tip, lands on his stomach and Steve whimpers at the burn and immediate cooling. He feels like he’s blushing everywhere, Bucky picks up the pace of his thrusting with the glass wand and lets more wax drip onto his ribcage. Steve folds his arms on the edges of the table, digging his fingers into the cheap sheet, and jolts every time the hot wax drips onto him. It always burns for a split second before beginning to cool, but the burn is shock more than heat. Bucky drips wax all over his ribs, on his stomach, even lets it drip onto his knees and run down his legs until it cools and hardens into a line.

 

Steve holds very still, the pleasure Bucky’s pushing into him with the glass wand combines with the adrenaline from watching the wax drip onto his skin. The edges of his mind are getting blurry.

 

“What’s your number?” Bucky asks him.

 

“One,” Steve mumbles.

 

“You’re getting all fuzzy, aren’t you?” Bucky says. “All you can think about is this toy in your hole and how good you feel.”

 

“Yessir,” Steve sighs.

 

“Let’s try this,” Bucky says, holding the candle further up his body. “I want to see your pretty pink nipples all red.”

 

“One,” Steve says again.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve lets out his breath, Bucky tips the candle, Steve gasps and moans as the wax cools on his nipple. It hardens impossibly wonderfully, like a gentle pinch that wouldn’t let go. The wax pulls at him as his chest heaves and Steve makes sure to let his breathing deepen just to keep feeling it.

 

“Are you enjoying being a whore?” Bucky asks him. “Such a pretty slut you make, too. You’re gorgeous with this full blush and your tight cunt is still so wet. Do you want to know something, sweet boy?”

 

“What?” Steve mutters.

 

“My cock is hard,” Bucky says softly.

 

Steve whimpers and Bucky’s lip curl in a slow grin.

 

“It’s so hard,” Bucky tells him, his voice dark and filthy, “just from playing with you, sweet thing. You look like such a pretty slut, I’m hard and ready to shove my fat cock in your wet little cunt.”

 

“Oh, sir,” Steve says, his eyes rolling back in his head.

 

“I’m gonna push my dick into your tight hole,” Bucky tells him. “And I’m gonna fuck you so hard you black out. I’m gonna ruin you and make you all mine. Are you ready to be my slut, pretty boy?”

 

“Yes!” Steve gasps. Bucky spills wax onto his other nipple and Steve cries out again. “Sir, sir, please, please fuck me, please –”

 

“Are you ready to be ruined?” Bucky demands. “Are you ready for me to take your virginity, pretty boy?”

 

“Yessir, yes!” Steve moans.

 

Bucky blows out the candle. He puts it down somewhere Steve can’t see nor does he care about, then he pulls the glass wand from Steve’s ass and puts it down, too.

 

“I’m gonna push my big, fat cock into your tight pussy,” Bucky tells him, grabbing his hips and dragging him closer to the edge. “I’m gonna fuck you, wet slut. I’m gonna make you cry, I’m gonna make you scream for me, sweet thing.”

 

“Please!” Steve begs. “Please, ruin me, ruin me, sir, please –”

 

“Are you ready for my fat dick?” Bucky growls, his hands squeezing Steve’s hips. “It’s twice as thick as that fun little toy, sweet boy, and you’ve never had something this big up your ass.”

 

“Please, please put it in me,” Steve says, “I wanna have your fat cock in me, please, sir –”

 

He breaks off to cry out and Bucky growls, his fingers digging into Steve’s hips. Bucky practically pulls him onto him, filling Steve’s body to the max.

 

“How’s that feel?” Bucky growls, then yanks himself back and slams back into Steve – Steve cries out again. “Do you feel like a slut yet, pretty boy? You like having a big cock shoved into your tight cunt?”

 

“Yessir!” Steve gasps out.

 

“You like bein’ my pretty whore?” Bucky demands, slamming in and out of him.

 

“Yes, sir, I’m your pretty whore,” Steve echoes.

 

“Say it again,” Bucky growls. “Tell me what you are again, Stevie.”

 

“Your pretty whore,” Steve repeats, amazed he can get it out without stammering or slurring. “All yours, sir, all yours.”

 

“All mine,” Bucky agrees, panting. “Now that I’ve ruined you, you belong to me. You’re mine, you’re my bitch.”

 

“Yours,” Steve gasps.

 

“My pretty boy,” Bucky growls. “So tight and wet, such a perfect slut.”

 

“Sir,” Steve says, slurring.

 

“What do you need?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve holds out a hand. Bucky takes it and laces their fingers together. They’ve never fucked face-to-face, Steve realizes abruptly. Steve’s never seen Bucky’s eyes as he comes undone; Bucky’s seen his, from the times Steve’s come on his knees for Bucky, but never the other way around.

 

Steve opens his eyes and meets Bucky’s gaze. His eyes are sharp, bright, his pupils wide. His hair falls over his face, bedraggled and messy, curling with sweat. His cheeks are flushed. Steve didn’t know that would happen.

 

“Buck,” Steve mumbles.

 

“I’m here,” Bucky answers, gripping his hand tighter and slowing his hips. “What’s your number?”

 

“One,” Steve says. “Don’t look away?”

 

Bucky shakes his head, maintaining eye contact. “Keep your eyes open,” he orders and Steve nods, squeezing his hand. Bucky drops his other hand onto the table, bending over him and pressing his legs apart to kiss him. Steve grabs his hair, lifting off the table to meet his kiss, and Bucky cups his waist in his empty hand, kissing him harder. He lifts up, meets Steve’s eyes again, and starts back up his brutal pace.

 

“You’re mine,” Bucky swears.

 

“Yours,” Steve murmurs. There are more words on the tip of his tongue. His vision is tunneling.

 

“You goin’ into subspace?” Bucky asks. “Is my cock driving you into subspace, pretty whore?”

 

Steve nods quickly. He bites his lip to keep the words behind his teeth.

 

“Let me hear you,” Bucky pants out. “Let me hear you gasp, little slut, let me hear you moan.”

 

Steve unclamps his jaw and nods. He tastes iron and sucks on the blood coming from his lip until it stops. Bucky lifts his palm off the table, Steve flicks his gaze down to watch its path, then he meets Bucky’s gaze again quickly, just in time to moan as Bucky’s hand closes on him.

 

“That’s it,” Bucky says. “Moan, whore. Let me hear how much you love my cock pounding into you, beatin’ your pretty little ass black an’ blue. Show me how much of a slut for cum you are, sweet boy, c’mon, sweet thing.”

 

“Sir, I wanna come,” Steve begs.

 

“You want to come?” Bucky repeats. “You gonna come callin’ out for who you belong to?”

 

“Yessir, yes,” Steve says, “can I come? Please, I wanna come, I need to come, sir, please –”

 

“You ready for me to come in your tight ass?” Bucky asks him. “‘Cause the second you come, I’m gonna come, baby boy, I’m gonna come in your wet cunt and make you twice the mess you already are, make you look like the sloppy whore you are. You wanna come, pretty boy?”

 

“Yes, please, sir, yes!”

 

“You can come,” Bucky says. Steve feels it building. “Come, sweet thing, squeeze my fat dick and I’m gonna spill int’a you, you’re gonna make your Alpha knot you –”

 

Steve doesn’t hear the end of his sentence. He gasps as his orgasm hits him, every muscle in his body locks up as he finishes hard. His head spins. He jolts as he feels the pressure of the condom filling and Bucky’s knot locking into him, then he slowly goes limp.

 

“There,” Bucky murmurs above him. He detangles his hand from Steve’s and bends over him, cupping his face and kissing him. “That’s my sweet Omega,” Bucky purrs softly.

 

“Thank you, Alpha,” Steve says quietly.

 

“Thank _you,_ dragoste,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve kisses him back lazily, the afterglow of his orgasm like a heavy blanket. Bucky’s scent fills his nose, making him feel perfectly content. Bucky noses at his jaw, then down his body and kisses his sternum.

 

“Te iubesc,” Bucky murmurs into his skin. He kisses down his body, lifts up and takes his hands, picking them up and kissing the knuckles on each. Steve feels perfectly useless, limp in Bucky’s hands. He fully trusts his Alpha.

 

“I’m gonna pick the wax off,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve nods. He barely feels it as Bucky scrapes the cooled wax off his body. When he’s done, presumably, Bucky bends over him again and kisses the choker around his neck, then lifts his head up and releases the clasp. Steve lies back as Bucky takes it away, then when Bucky’s arms curl under his back, he lifts his arms and drapes them over Bucky’s neck.

 

“Good boy,” Bucky murmurs in his ear. Bucky lifts him off the table, tucks him against his chest, and unhooks his feet from the stirrups of the table. Bucky carries him away, sits and lies back on – Steve opens his eyes to look – the bed. Bucky’s hands sweep over his back.

 

Steve is sated, sleepy, and content. Bucky holds him securely, lying back with his head resting flat on the mattress, and because of that, his throat is exposed. Steve rests his face there, against Bucky’s scent gland, and breathes. He is where he belongs. He is where he belongs, and perhaps that was always the case. There are words on the tip of his tongue that keep coming back up no matter how many times Steve swallows them, words that he’d sworn off a very, very long time ago. He’s never felt them come back up his throat once in the past seven years, not even for Darcy. But they rest on the tip of his tongue in Bucky’s presence, and for once in his life, Steve suspects that maybe a higher power could be real, because Bucky’s hands on him feel more than a little bit predestined.

 

“Te iubesc,” Bucky murmurs quietly.

 

Steve nods into his neck, though he doesn’t know what those words mean. He doesn’t know what to say to them, so he answers with, “Yours.”

 

“Mine,” Bucky agrees. “And yours.”

 

Steve smiles into his neck. “Mine,” he echoes softly.

 

And that feels more than a little bit predestined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ahhh they're still not talking as much as they could beeee!!! if you liked this, pretty please leave me comment bc you know how much i love comments. check back in tomorrow for chapters 23 and 24, then chapter 25 will be released on saturday, november 3rd. remember, i warned you._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  **Curvă mea mică. Iti este cald? Ai nevoie de mine să te ating, băietel?** = _My little slut. Are you hot? Do you need me to touch you, baby boy?_  
>  **Cum e cocoșul mică tău, băietel?** = _How's your little cock, baby boy?_  
>  **propria mea** = _my own_  
>  **Cred ca te iubesc** = _I think I love you_  
>  **Nu pot să-ți spun încă, dar cred că o fac** = _I cannot tell you yet, but I think I do_  
>  **Te iubesc** = _I love you_  
>  **Nu știu ce aș face fără tine. Stiu că e prea devreme și eu sunt un laș să nu-ți spun că într-o limbă pe care o poți înțelege, dar te iubesc** = _I do not know what I'd do without you. I know it's too early and I'm a coward not to tell you that in a language you can understand, but I love you_
> 
>    
>  _yup. bucky done gone there._  
>   
> 
> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	23. long time, no see, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _here we are, home stretch. i had so much fun writing these last few chapters, lexi had even more fun yelling at me about the things that i did bc they were "unnecessary" and "excessive." wait, why are you looking at me like that? what? whaaaaaat? (that should be read in linda from bob's burger's voice. whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?) anyway, on we go!_

##  _long time, no see, huh?_

 

“Why do we need to tour the dorms?” Natasha asks him in a flat tone. “You’re not going to be living in the dorms, Steve.”

 

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Steve insists, dragging her by the hand towards the dormitory tour queuing.

 

“What’s the principle?” Natasha sighs, but doesn’t fight Steve’s grip on her hand and follows him easily. “I’m regretting agreeing to take you to this. I should’ve made Barton do it.”

 

“Shh,” Steve tells her. “You know Bucky trusts you the most.”

 

Natasha rolls her eyes; she’s wearing sunglasses, but Steve knows she’s rolling them by the way her eyebrows lift slightly. Steve skids to a halt near the back of the queue and rocks back on the heels of his feet.

 

“Stop bouncing, kid,” Natasha sighs.

 

“Nope!” Steve answers with a grin. “You can’t contain my enthusiasm, Natashka.”

 

“I regret everything in my life that lead to this point,” Natasha says with a heavier sigh.

 

“No, you don’t,” Steve says, shaking her hand. “You secretly love me.”

 

Natasha faces him, her expression completely blank behind her sunglasses. Steve smiles smugly at her.

 

“I’d tell you to suck a dick but you’d enjoy that,” Natasha says.

 

“Hell, yeah, I would,” Steve agrees, grinning wider.

 

“Steve?”

 

Steve turns around at the sound of his name, then gasps. “Peggy!” he cries, dropping Natasha’s hand in time to catch the woman flying in to hug him.

 

“Ohmygod!” Peggy says in shock, then draws back to look him up and down.

 

Steve looks back at her with equal disbelief; he hasn’t seen her since he left high school, but she looks almost the same. Her hair’s shorter, curlier, and her accent’s gotten softer after so many years living away from England, but she’s just the same. He can’t believe she’s standing in front of him.

 

“I thought you dropped off the face of the earth!” Peggy says.

 

“I dropped out of school,” Steve answers, rolling his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m an RA for this dorm,” Peggy says, “what are you doing here! Are you thinking about attending NYU?”

 

“I got my acceptance letter last week,” Steve says with a broad grin.

 

“Ohmygod!” Peggy squeals again, tugging him back into another hug. “Are you going to be living on campus? You have to request my floor!”

 

“I won’t be on campus,” Steve admits and Peggy’s face falls. “I live in Midtown.”

 

“Midtown,” Peggy whispers. She hits his shoulder. “How’d you get to living in _Midtown_ _?”_

 

“Uh,” Steve starts. “It’s a long story.”

 

“Are we touring the dorm or not?” Natasha speaks up.

 

Steve looks over his shoulder; the group’s gone inside.

 

“Oops,” he mutters.

 

“You should come get coffee with me,” Peggy says firmly. “There’s a cute little cafe just five minutes from here –”

 

“I’ve actually got to go soon,” Steve says regretfully. “I’m meeting my boyfriend for lunch, we were gonna do the dorm tour last.”

 

“But he’s not living in the dorms, so it’s no big deal we missed it,” Natasha says.

 

“Oh, I thought she was your girlfriend,” Peggy blurts, pointing at Natasha.

 

Steve looks at her. Natasha looks back at him.

 

“No,” Steve says with deep horror.

 

“I’d be offended,” Natasha says flatly, “but I know how much of a brat he is.”

 

“She’s just –” Steve starts, halts halfway through and bites his lip.

 

“I’m his bodyguard,” Natasha adds.

 

Peggy laughs nervously. “You’ve got a bodyguard, Steve?”

 

“No!” Steve says quickly. “She’s just a friend, my boyfriend couldn’t get off work to come with me so she came instead.”

 

“What about your mother?” Peggy asks.

 

Steve gives her a sad smile. “She passed away,” he tells her. “About a month after I dropped out.”

 

“Oh, Steve,” Peggy says kindly. She takes Steve’s shoulder and squeezes it. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, it’s okay,” Steve says, “she was in a lot of pain and there wasn’t a lot the doctors could do for her.”

 

“It’s still awful,” Peggy insists. “I know how close you two were.”

 

Steve gives her a stiff smile and shrugs. “Chemo messed with her head that last year or so,” he says, “shitty as it makes me, I was kinda glad when she died. She got kinda mean in the end.”

 

“Oh,” Peggy says. Steve shrugs again. “Well. How’d you get to New York? I thought you would live with your father in California?”

 

“No, I got put in the foster system,” Steve answers. “My dad denied I was his, so…”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Peggy tells him genuinely. “Listen, we should catch up. I was going to catch a film tonight, you should come with me! We could get coffee or ice cream after –”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says quickly, “yeah, we should do that.”

 

Natasha raises her eyebrows at him. Steve ignores her. He pulls out his phone, unlocking it with his fingerprint and opening his contacts.

 

“I don’t remember your number,” he says, looking up at Peggy.

 

“Is that James Barnes?” Peggy asks, her head tilted to look at his phone case.

 

Steve looks at the back of his phone and the grayscale sketch of Bucky in his desk chair, cigar in one hand and gun in the other. He blushes.

 

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “It was kinda a joke when I bought it –”

 

“I swear, I’ve seen a million of those cases today,” Peggy laughs. “I’ve never understood Americans’ obsession with celebrity criminals.”

 

“Oh, Steve’s obsessed alright,” Natasha interjects dryly.

 

Steve hits her on the arm. “What’s your number?” he asks Peggy.

 

She recites it and Steve enters it into his phone, then sends the number a text. Peggy pulls her phone from her back pocket and waves it with a smile.

 

“I’ll see you tonight?” she says.

 

“Yeah, definitely,” Steve promises.

 

Peggy pulls him into another hug, then slips past a crowd of high schoolers in matching plaid uniforms and Steve turns to Natasha.

 

“We might as well go now,” he says.

 

“I’m not going with you to a movie,” Natasha answers.

 

“I know,” Steve replies, but Natasha carries on.

 

“And you didn’t mention you’d be bringing a plus one,” she says. “You’re just gonna spring that on your friend?”

 

“I’m gonna talk to Bucky about it,” Steve says.

 

“He’s not going to let you go alone,” Natasha insists.

 

“I’m gonna talk to him,” Steve repeats, taking her hand and putting his phone away. “C’mon, let’s go.”

 

Natasha sighs but doesn’t pull her hand away from him. They head for the parking lots in silence, hand in hand. In the past six months, Steve’s gotten over his jealousy towards Natasha and she’s gotten over her mistrust of him – Or he assumes she has. Things are going well for him and Bucky; Steve’s got his last exam for his GED certificate on Monday, Bucky has gotten over his fear of preying on Steve’s vulnerabilities, they eat breakfast together every morning that Bucky’s home. The sex is still just as fantastic as it was in their first month; in fact, Steve would say it’s gotten better since Bucky now knows how much Steve enjoys putting emphasis on how much older than him Bucky is. Steve sees his shrink once a month and even Bucky’s started going to one. Bucky managed to convince Steve to let him pay his tuition to community college and NYU, but on the condition that they set up scholarships at Gracie’s House for other kids like him. Things couldn’t be better.

 

“Can I drive?” Steve asks as they near Natasha’s Corvette.

 

Natasha looks sideways at him from behind her sunglasses. Steve sighs.

 

“Was worth a try,” he mutters.

 

Natasha flicks an eyebrow up but says nothing. She unlocks the car and Steve lets go of her hand to walk around the other side of the car. He gets in and clips his seatbelt, taking out his phone immediately and connecting to her speakers.

 

“Do not play –” Natasha starts to say.

 

Steve cuts her off with _Nice For What._

 

“I want to know who motherfuckin’ represent in here tonight,” Steve says along to the track. Natasha rolls her eyes and Steve turns the volume up high.

 

“You’re gonna ruin your ears,” Natasha yells over the volume, pulling out of the parking spot.

 

“How can I explain myself?” Steve sings along.

 

Natasha probably rolls her eyes again. Then:

 

“Lil Weezyana shit,” she says along with Drake. Steve laughs and keeps singing, Natasha waves a hand with “Murda on the beat. A song for y’all to cut up to, y’know?”

 

“Everybody get your mothafuckin’ roll on!” Steve and Natasha sing together.

 

Steve slows but Natasha raps along with Drake like a motherfucking professional. They leave the campus, Steve sings along with Lauryn Hill’s samples, and Natasha lets her hands come off the wheel to rap along with Drake – She says _fools_ instead of the N-word and Steve jumps in to do Big Freedia’s bridge and the both of them belt out girl-genius Shuri Prince’s _WATCH THE BREAKDOWN!_

 

“I know her,” Steve says over the volume. “I helped her pick out her prom dress.”

 

“I know her too, kid,” Natasha answers. “She’s T’Challa’s little sister, of course, we know her.”

 

“But I helped her pick out her prom dress,” Steve insists. “She looks hella fire.”

 

“Sure, kid,” Natasha laughs.

 

Steve settles in his chair and smiles at his phone, fixing his Spotify queue to play _Chun-Li_ next. Natasha grins when it comes on.

 

“You’d never know you can rap,” Steve says calmly.

 

“Ayo,” Natasha starts instead of answering him.

 

Steve laughs and joins her for the chorus, but that’s as much as he can rap.

 

“Oh, I get it,” Natasha says along with Nicki, “they paintin’ me out to be the bad guy.”

 

Steve grins at nothing and looks down at his phone as it vibrates in his hand. Peggy’s sent him a text, the address of the movie theater and the movie they’ll be seeing. Steve takes a second to reply to her, then checks his other notifications. Emails, a Snap from Darcy, his last post on Instagram blew up like usual. He looks up in time to see Natasha turning into the parking garage outside Seyrbakov Corp.; with how little traffic there is at two in the afternoon, it hadn’t taken long to get from Greenwich Village to Midtown. Steve turns down the volume as Natasha scans her badge, the guard rails lift and she pulls in.

 

She parks on the top level, guarded by another gate, parking next to Bucky’s Maserati. Steve pauses his Spotify as she cuts the engine, then pops his seatbelt and gets out.

 

“Alright, kid,” Natasha says, locking her car. “I’m dropping you off with the boss and then I’m done playing babysitter.”

 

“Thanks, Natashka,” Steve says, lifting onto his toes to kiss her cheek. She rolls her eyes behind her sunglasses.

 

Steve takes the lead to the elevator, taking out his wallet and scanning his own badge to get into it. Inside, he selects the 62nd floor and leans against the wall. Natasha folds her arms under her breasts and stares flatly ahead as the elevator begins to rise.

 

“I can’t wait to start at NYU,” Steve says.

 

“I know, kid,” Natasha answers. She glances once at him, then leans over and lightly punches his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great there.”

 

Steve grins at the floor and Natasha ruffles his hair in a maternal gesture. Steve lets her, not minding it in the slightest. He glances at his phone and wonders if he should tell Bucky that they’re early, then decides against it, figuring he ought to surprise him. Bucky has been stressed lately; there’s a merger going down with a company in Brazil that hasn’t been going as smoothly as anyone would like. He puts his phone away and stands up straighter as the elevator comes to a halt, then the doors open.

 

Natasha goes out first. Steve catches up with her and snatches her hand again, lacing their fingers together. Natasha doesn’t protest, but she never does. They walk right by reception, through a set of heavy glass doors guarded by suits, and down a corridor toward the west side of the building. There’s a security checkpoint and both Steve and Natasha have to show their badges, but the suits don’t keep them long.

 

Bucky’s secretary, a forty-something woman Steve hasn’t yet learned the name of, nears them with a fretful look as they walk up to Bucky's office, but Natasha waves her off. Natasha leads Steve through a parlor and pushes open one of the polished black oak double doors leading into Bucky’s office.

 

“What part of _do not disturb_ did you not understand, Moira?” Bucky calls angrily from inside.

 

“I have your brat,” Natasha answers, walking in with Steve trailing behind her, “but I can keep him if you want.”

 

They clear the corner and Steve waves at Bucky. Bucky immediately gets up, pushing his chair out of his way, and walks around his desk to meet them. Steve drops Natasha’s hand and lets Bucky pull him into a bear hug.

 

“Hi,” he mumbles into the front of Bucky’s jacket.

 

“Hi, baby,” Bucky says softly into his hair.

 

“Well, I guess I don’t matter, then,” Natasha calls. “Didn’t the honeymoon period end, like, four months ago?”

 

“Fuck off,” Bucky says. He lets go of Steve, taking his hand instead. “Thanks for taking him today.”

 

“Yeah, I had a great time,” Steve adds.

 

Natasha salutes lazily. “Anytime,” she says. “Barnes, you gotta call Fisk at four, don’t spend so much time with your brat you forget.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky answers, waving her out. “Go knock some heads together, Natalia.”

 

“Bye, Natashka!” Steve calls after her.

 

Natasha turns around, walking backwards, and raises both middle fingers to him as she leaves. The heavy door swings shut behind her, cutting off all sound from outside. Bucky turns back to Steve, picks him up by the waist, and puts him down on his desk. Steve happily parts his knees for Bucky to crowd into his space, putting his arms around Bucky’s neck and tilting his head up for a kiss.

 

Bucky leans their foreheads together after kissing him, his eyes shut and the lines around them prominent in the light from the windows behind them. Steve brushes through his hair with his fingers, detangling light knots that had formed since Bucky had combed it back that morning.

 

“You okay?” Steve asks him quietly.

 

Bucky sighs heavily. “Shit’s going down,” he says, then cups his jaw and kisses him again. “I got a lot of work to do, I can’t go out for lunch.”

 

“It’s fine,” Steve assures him. “The cafeteria’s not so bad.”

 

Bucky nods. His hands lock behind Steve’s back and he drops his head onto his shoulder, tucking his face into Steve’s neck. Steve lifts his chin to let him, tucking it over Bucky’s head.

 

“I met an old friend on campus today,” Steve says.

 

“Yeah?” Bucky mumbles, nuzzling his neck.

 

“Yeah,” Steve answers, “Peggy Carter, she was my best friend before I dropped out of school. She moved here from England in the middle of the year so nobody wanted to talk to her, but nobody wanted to talk to me, either, so we kinda stuck together.”

 

“You guys gonna catch up?” Bucky asks.

 

“We’re gonna see a movie and get coffee tonight,” Steve says. Bucky lifts his head. “I was thinking maybe I could go by myself?”

 

“No,” Bucky says immediately, tightening his grip, “you gotta take somebody with you – Hunter’s free, he’ll take you.”

 

“I haven’t seen Peggy in years,” Steve counters, “and I didn’t say that I was dating _you_ – I don’t wanna throw that on her.”

 

“Steve,” Bucky says, sighing.

 

“I can take care of myself!” Steve insists. “I don’t need a bodyguard all the time, Buck –”

 

“What if somebody recognizes you?” Bucky asks. “What if the wrong somebody recognizes you?”

 

“Isn’t that what this is for?” Steve retorts, pulling back the hem of his loose shirt to remind Bucky of the gun strapped to his side. “C’mon, I haven’t seen Peggy since I dropped out of school, I don’t want Hunter hanging around making things awkward.”

 

Bucky thins his lips. Steve touches his face.

 

“I can take care of myself,” he says firmly. “You don’t gotta worry about me all the time.”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Bucky grumbles, “wad’n’it just last week you got arrested for punching a cop?”

 

“We were peacefully protesting!” Steve defends himself. “That guy was about to Mace us!”

 

“My point,” Bucky sighs, then pulls him closer and kisses him sweetly. Steve relaxes under the kiss, letting his arms hang over Bucky’s shoulders. “My point,” Bucky repeats quieter when he pulls back, “is I’m gonna worry about you no matter what.”

 

“I got a sidearm,” Steve reminds him. “And Natasha says my knife-throwing is getting better than yours. I can protect myself, Buck.”

 

Bucky gently knocks their foreheads together. “Okay,” he mutters. “You can go alone.”

 

Steve grins and kisses him quickly. Bucky lets him for a second, then pushes him back. “But you gotta check in with me!” he says, shaking Steve lightly. “Anytime you leave someplace, you gotta send me a text and let me know you’re still okay.”

 

“Okay,” Steve promises, stealing another kiss. “Did you take your meds after I left this morning?”

 

Bucky scowls. Steve raises his eyebrows.

 

“It only works if you take it,” Steve reminds him.

 

“I know, I know,” Bucky mutters, dropping his gaze and sighing again. “Just – I hate having to take a pill. I been on a hair trigger for ten or fifteen years –”

 

“It’s nothing against you that you got anxiety,” Steve tells him gently, reaching up and starting to finger-comb his hair again. “And you’re taking the low dose just so it can take the edge off, remember?”

 

Bucky nods jerkily. Steve pulls him in and kisses his cheek, then his lips. Bucky exhales against his mouth, his hands finding Steve’s waist and holding onto him.

 

“Better take it before we go eat,” Steve says.

 

“You’re right,” Bucky grumbles.

 

“‘Course,” Steve answers, leaning back and smiling at him, “I’m always right.”

 

Bucky laughs and tugs him back in to kiss him. Then he lifts Steve off his desk and walks around, sitting down to open a drawer and rifle through it for the bottle he keeps at work. Steve follows, putting an elbow on the back of Bucky’s chair and squinting at his computer screen.

 

“The amount of math you do on a daily basis astounds me,” he remarks.

 

“Ha, ha,” Bucky says, digging out his anti-anxiety prescription. He unscrews the cap, shakes out one pill, and puts the cap back on. He throws the pill back, swallowing it dry, and turns to Steve with his mouth open.

 

Steve rolls his eyes but makes a show of looking through his mouth to make sure he actually swallowed the pill. Bucky grabs his waist and tickles him abruptly, making Steve shriek and try to fight him off. Bucky laughs, gets up, and pulls him in with little effort. Steve lets him, though, giggling as he grabs the front of Bucky’s jacket.

 

“Te iubesc,” Bucky chuckles into his hair.

 

“Are you ever going to tell me what that means?” Steve asks, squinting up at him.

 

Bucky shrugs and steals a kiss. “One day,” he promises.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’ve been saying that for the past five months,” he says dryly. Bucky just laughs at him again. “One of these days, I’m gonna buy Rosetta Stone!” Steve adds threateningly. Bucky laughs harder. “I mean it!” he says.

 

Bucky grabs him by the middle and tosses him over his shoulder. Steve lets out an: “Oof!” and Bucky gives his ass a pat.

 

“You’re hangry,” he says decisively. “Time for food.”

 

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Steve says but doesn’t fight him.

 

“You’re bad at topping,” Bucky answers. They leave the office and Steve waves to the startled faces of Bucky’s guards. “I’ll be out of the office for the next hour, Moira,” Bucky says to his secretary. “Take a long lunch.”

 

“Have a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Barnes!” she calls after him, wiggling her fingers. Steve waves back. She winks.

 

“Y’know what?” Bucky mutters to himself, cutting into a closed hallway, then opening a hidden door. “Here we go.”

 

“Doesn’t this just lead back to your office?” Steve asks, looking at the back of Bucky’s head.

 

“Yep,” Bucky says.

 

“Oh, I see,” Steve replies, “‘you’re out of the office.’ Are you going to fuck me?”

 

“Yep,” Bucky says happily.

 

Steve rolls his eyes as Bucky takes the secret passage back into his office. “Dramatic gay energy,” he mutters to himself, tugging his phone out of his pocket to open Instagram. He takes a picture of himself thrown over Bucky’s shoulder, swipes through filters and captions it with _Dramatic gay energy_ in time to post it just before Bucky drops him onto a couch.

 

“Are you still wearing that plug?” Bucky asks, climbing on top of him.

 

Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist. “Why don’t you look and see?”

 

About half an hour later, they take the hidden passage back out of the office and eat in the cafeteria. After, Steve’s meeting Peggy in the Village at five, so at quarter to four, he doesn’t want to bother going home to just have to leave again right away. Instead, he follows Bucky back up to his office and occupies himself the way he usually does while Bucky’s working – He sits on a pillow under Bucky’s desk and drools on Bucky’s dick.

 

At four-thirty, Bucky walks him down to the garage. “I might as well drop you off,” he says, and Steve doesn’t mind. “Remember to text me when you leave the theater and let me know if you go anywhere else after coffee. Tell me where you’re getting coffee, too.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Steve promises him.

 

“I know,” Bucky says, but he seems distracted. He checks his phone as they enter the parking garage, probably scrolling through his emails, and halfway to his car, Bucky stops mid-step and swears loudly. Steve turns back, walking up to him with concern, but Bucky hastily puts away his phone.

 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky stares into space for a second, biting his lip. Steve steps closer and Bucky glances at him, then pulls him in by the waist.

 

“Maybe I should go with you,” he says.

 

“Buck,” Steve says calmly, reaching up to brush at his hair, “I’ll be fine.”

 

Bucky worries his lip between his teeth. Steve frames his face in both hands. “I promise, I’ll be fine,” he repeats a third time. “What are you so worried about?”

 

Bucky exhales heavily. “It’s nothing,” he mutters.

 

“No, tell me,” Steve presses gently.

 

But Bucky shakes his head. “It’d just ruin your evening. Keep your piece close, and don’t go anywhere quiet, stay near the crowds.”

 

“What happened?” Steve asks, now starting to get worried himself.

 

Bucky shakes his head again. “I’ll fix it,” he promises. “Text me every hour. Every half hour.”

 

“I’m not texting during the movie,” Steve says firmly. “I’ll text you before it starts and after.”

 

Bucky looks like he’s going to argue, so Steve lifts onto his toes and pulls him down for a kiss. Bucky seems to relax for it, his hands do, at least. Steve circles his arms around Bucky’s neck and drops back onto his heels, offering him a smile when Bucky opens his eyes.

 

“What movie are you going to see?” Bucky asks softly.

 

“The new Star Wars,” Steve says. “Are you gonna go home and mope until you have to come get me?”

 

“Probably,” Bucky grumbles.

 

Steve gives his shoulder a light push. “No, you’re not,” he says, “you’re gonna go home and do something fun. Play XBox or something.”

 

“I got more work to do,” Bucky sighs.

 

“It’s Friday!” Steve reminds him. “No work after five on Fridays, it’ll be almost six by the time you get home.”

 

“I hate it when you’re right,” Bucky complains under his breath.

 

“No, you don’t,” Steve answers. “Try playing _Inside,_ you like horror movies and puzzle games.”

 

“I’m too old for video games,” Bucky says.

 

“Shush,” Steve says. He lifts onto his toes again and Bucky gives him a kiss. “C’mon,” he says, pulling back and taking Bucky’s hand again.

 

Bucky follows him to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for him. When Steve gets in, Bucky ducks his head into the car and does his seatbelt for him, collecting a kiss before he backs out and shuts the door. Steve takes out his phone, then plugs it in just to get the charge up before they reach the Village. Bucky gets in on the other side, blows out his breath hard, then presses the start button on the car and simply waits. Steve connects his phone to the car’s BlueTooth, then leans over the middle and kisses Bucky’s cheek. Bucky smiles as he puts the car in reverse and Steve resumes Spotify.

 

“You know what my favorite thing about Natasha is?” Steve asks, flopping over the center console to put his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“What?” Bucky asks, changing gears.

 

“She can _rap,_ ” Steve says, playing _Nice For What_ again.

 

Bucky snorts. Steve smiles at his phone and checks Instagram. Ever since his account had been linked to Bucky’s infamy, everything he uploads gets a thousand times the interactions. He’s even got a verified account at this point despite removing his surname; he convinced Bucky to make an Instagram, too, though Steve posts more on it than he does. They are officially a power couple and Steve is living for it.

 

He’s got about eight thousand comments and three hundred thousand something likes on his last post, and in the comments, most people are complimenting Bucky’s ass.

 

“The Internet likes your ass,” Steve says.

 

“The Internet can kiss my ass,” Bucky grumbles. “Hey, nice fucking turn signal, moron!”

 

Steve snorts. He leans on the center console and opens his story, pressing live. He bites his lip as it connects, then raises his eyebrows at it when it does.

 

“The light’s yellow, what are you doing?” Bucky calls.

 

Steve continues to raise his eyebrows. People start to join the live stream, commenting stupid things like _first_ and asking for follows, but Steve ignores them, putting his head on Bucky’s shoulder again and smiling as Bucky curses out the traffic.

 

“Who taught these motherfuckers to drive, a blind-ass Shih Tzu?” Bucky complains, glancing at him. “Are you filming?”

 

“Say hi to the Internet,” Steve answers.

 

“Oh, my fucking God,” Bucky exhales.

 

Steve laughs at him and sits up. “Youse keep askin’ if dating him’s a fairytale; if Prince Charming had a mouth worse than a sailor, sure.”

 

He ends the live stream there and exits Instagram.

 

“Little attention whore,” Bucky grumbles.

 

Steve, grinning, drops back against his shoulder. “I’m _your_ little attention whore, Daddy.”

 

“Damn straight,” Bucky says, somehow both proud and exasperated. “You’re my brat, too, when you gonna start usin’ your manners?”

 

“Aw, I’m sorry, Daddy,” Steve answers. “You’re just gonna have to punish me.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I caned you last night.”

 

“But I want you to cane me again,” Steve says, then shifts onto his knees on the seat and pouts at Bucky.

 

Bucky glances at him. “Don’t look at me like that,” he insists, waving a finger in his direction.

 

Steve increases his pout. “Daddy,” he whines.

 

“No,” Bucky says, starting to laugh.

 

“Please,” Steve begs. “You could whip me?”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky sighs.

 

Steve beams and presses a kiss to his cheek. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Sit properly, you’ll get snapped in half if we get rear-ended,” he says.

 

Steve squirms in his seat to get off his knees, then leans on the center console and lays his head back on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“You wanna whip me with a belt?” he asks. “I liked it last time.”

 

“No, I got a new flogger I wanna try on you,” Bucky answers, reaching over and gripping Steve’s knee with a hand. “I might have to go out of the country on Monday.”

 

Steve looks up at him. “Monday’s my finals.”

 

“I know,” Bucky says with a sorry grimace. “But this merger isn’t going well, they want to talk face-to-face.”

 

“But,” Steve mumbles.

 

“I’d be back Wednesday morning,” Bucky adds. “Natasha will come stay with you while I’m gone.”

 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Steve says with a sigh. “I’ll be fine, Buck.”

 

Bucky chews on his lip. “Can you let her stay for me?” he asks. “So I know you’re not alone?”

 

Steve sits up. “Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow?” he suggests gently. “When you’re not so stressed?”

 

Bucky exhales and nods. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Why don’t we go to breakfast in the morning?”

 

“It’s a date,” Steve agrees, leaning over and kissing his cheek. Bucky turns his head at a red light and Steve gets a kiss on the lips.

 

As they near the theater, Steve sees Bucky’s stress building back up. He grips the steering wheel harder, touches Steve at every opportunity, clenches his jaw. Steve pulls his phone out and opens his conversation with Peggy, then reaches out and touches Bucky’s hair.

 

“Maybe we should just go home,” he starts.

 

“No, you have your night out,” Bucky answers. “I’ll be okay, Steve.”

 

“You sure?” Steve asks gently. “I don’t mind rescheduling with Peggy.”

 

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I gotta make some phone calls when I get back.”

 

“It’s already five,” Steve points out.

 

“Family business,” Bucky says. Steve sighs but nods; their agreement only includes Bucky’s official work. “I’ll see you later. I’m picking you up at nine, right?”

 

“Yep,” Steve says.

 

Bucky pulls in front of the theater and Steve releases his seatbelt. He leans over the center console to kiss him, then opens his door to get out.

 

“You’ve got your sidearm?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve lifts his shirt to show him. Bucky nods and Steve blows him a kiss before shutting the door. He heads for the entrance, turning back to wave one more time to Bucky’s car still waiting, then pushes open the doors and steps inside.

 

He dials Peggy as he steps out of the main pathway, looking around for her. After the third ring, she answers.

 

 _“Hello!”_ she chirps. _“I’m over by concession.”_

 

Steve lifts onto his toes, then spots her waving. “I see you,” he says, starting toward her. Peggy hangs up as he nears and Steve puts his phone away.

 

“Hello, you,” she greets warmly, pulling him into a hug. “I already got our tickets –”

 

“You didn’t have to do that!” Steve says, but grinning at her.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Peggy claims with a wave of her hand. “Do you want popcorn?”

 

“Sure,” Steve says. “I’ll get it, though.”

 

“You sure?” Peggy asks, stepping into the line. “I invited you.”

 

“Yeah, I got it,” Steve promises. “I’ve got a rich boyfriend.”

 

Peggy laughs. “You did always say you were destined to be a trophy husband,” she teases as they enter the line to get popcorn. “So, tell me about this boyfriend!”

 

“His name’s Bucky,” Steve starts.

 

“Bucky?” Peggy repeats, snorting.

 

“For Buchanan!” Steve defends. “It’s better than going by Buck or Buchanan all the time.”

 

“Alright, sure,” Peggy sniggers. “What does he do?”

 

“He’s in imports/exports,” Steve answers. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down, biting his lip, wondering how much he _should_ say. “He works for a Fortune 500 company,” he says, stalling.

 

“Is he really rich?” Peggy asks.

 

“A bit,” Steve says. He’ll wait until later to tell her the full truth. “He likes to spoil me, anyway.”

 

“So you’ve got a sugar daddy?” Peggy says, looking excited.

 

Steve shrugs. “Kinda?”

 

Peggy gives a squeal and grabs his arm, shaking him; Steve grins bashfully and lets her hang off him.

 

“You’ve got a sugar daddy!” she laughs. “It’s your boyhood dream!”

 

“Sugar aside,” Steve says, and Peggy bursts into renewed laughter. “He’s great,” he goes on anyway, “we’re great together.”

 

“How long have you been together?” she asks.

 

“Since the beginning of November,” Steve says, then does some quick math. “So almost seven months?”

 

“Ooh,” Peggy says. “Is it getting serious?”

 

Steve smiles at his shoes and shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, scuffing a boot against the ground. “I mean, it’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had in my life by far.”

 

“What about Brock?” Peggy asks. Steve looks up sharply, eyebrows far up his forehead. “Well, the last thing any of us heard about you was that you were still with him.”

 

“I wasn’t ever dating Rumlow,” Steve starts. “I never even dated him in school.”

 

“Well, you did it once,” Peggy mutters.

 

Steve snorts. “Doesn’t mean I was dating him,” he says firmly. “I’ve had sex with a lot of people that I didn’t date,” he adds, giggling a little.

 

“Well, I heard you were still with him,” Peggy says with a shrug. “How is he? Nobody’s heard from him in a long time.”

 

Steve blows out his breath. “Uh,” he says, trying to think how to phrase it. “I think… He went missing a while ago.”

 

“Oh,” Peggy says. Her face blanks. “Oh,” she repeats.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

 

“Oh,” Peggy says a third time, sounding horrified. “That’s horrible.”

 

Steve bites his lip. “Yeah,” he repeats eventually. He won’t tell her the truth about Bucky. It’ll be difficult, but he’s talented with lies. “It’s sad.”

 

Peggy touches his shoulder again. Steve stares at the carpet for a second, which is a bright primary red, then blinks and looks up with a shrug.

 

“I hate to speak ill of the dead but he was an asshole,” he says.

 

“Well, maybe he’s alive,” Peggy says with concern.

 

Steve opens his mouth, looking somewhere off to the left. An employee fills a clear plastic cup with a bright red slushie, the liquid slipping slowly from the machine.

 

“I don’t know,” he says. “He, uh, was involved in some – A rough crowd, y’know?”

 

“Oh,” Peggy repeats, grimacing. “How rough?”

 

Steve shrugs, rubbing a hand on the inside of his right wrist where the symbol of the now out-of-business Brass Fang has been hidden with more extensive gold linework. Other animals have been added around twisting leaves; a lion, poised and looking pensive; a giraffe, its countenance at alert; a gazelle, drinking from water; an elephant, trumpet raised and angry; a panther, a hyena, a rhino, a monkey. It spreads out over his forearm, stopping at the crook of his elbow in an inverted curve, an intentional empty space where one day, Steve thinks he could add a wolf.

 

“Pretty rough,” Steve says eventually.

 

“That’s awful,” Peggy says.

 

“Enough about Rumlow,” Steve says, reaching over and giving her a gentle push, “what about you! What did you get up to?”

 

“Well,” Peggy sighs. “I’m studying PoliSci at NYU. I took a gap year after graduation to figure out what I wanted to do with myself, spent the year with my grandparents in London.”

 

“That’s exciting!” Steve says. “Did you meet anyone famous?”

 

“I did, in fact, get a selfie with Benedict Cumberbatch,” Peggy says proudly.

 

“Oh, my gawd, the Sherlock fangirl in me is dying,” Steve says. “Do you have it?”

 

Peggy grins and pulls out her phone. The concession line has put them at the front of the queue by then, so while she looks for the photo, Steve buys a large bucket of popcorn and two small drinks.

 

“Would you like to upgrade to slushies for a dollar?” the employee asks. “We only have the cherry right now.”

 

“No, that’s okay,” Steve answers. “Thanks, though.”

 

The employee takes his credit card, looks at it, then at him, then at it. Steve pulls out his ID before they can ask for it.

 

“This is the black card,” the employee says.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees.

 

The employee checks his ID, then looks at the card again. Steve waits for them to finish wondering how he has his own American Express Centurion credit card. He’d tried to tell Bucky not to give him his own black card, to just let him keep using his Average Joe Discover card, but he’d lost that argument. (Bucky had unfairly distracted Steve with his dick and he’d lost track of what they were doing.)

 

“What am I doing with my life,” the employee says quietly, swiping his card.

 

“That’s a mood,” Steve agrees.

 

“That’ll be why they call me Moody,” the employee says, handing back his card. Steve checks their name tag and it, indeed, reads Moody. “Have a pleasant night, Mr. Rogers.”

 

“Thanks, you too,” Steve answers, taking back his credit card and ID. He hands Peggy the stacked soda cups and juggles the huge ass popcorn bucket with his wallet to get his cards put away.

 

“Here it is,” Peggy says as the approach the soda machines. Steve looks over at her phone and whistles. “My crowning achievement.”

 

“I’m so proud of you,” Steve promises.

 

“It was the happiest moment of my life,” Peggy says, wiping away an imaginary tear.

 

Steve chuckles to himself, putting down his bucket of popcorn to take his cup from her to fill it.

 

“Anyway, I came back and here I am now,” Peggy says. “Not much happened since high school.”

 

Steve gives a nod, focusing on his drink.

 

“But what happened to you?” Peggy asks. “Like I said, the last any of us heard you were still with Brock Rumlow, but after you dropped out – Nobody knew where you went.”

 

Steve puts his drink in one hand and picks up the popcorn bucket in the other. “I bounced around the foster system for a while,” he answers. “Ended up in New York. I was adopted after about a year, but the man that adopted me wasn’t much of a father figure. Uh, he kinda was with the rough crowds Rumlow got into…”

 

Peggy stops in the middle of the walkway, her eyes wide. Steve shrugs.

 

“But that’s in the past,” he says calmly. “My boyfriend actually helped me get out of there, y’know?”

 

“Steve,” Peggy murmurs.

 

“We’re blocking the walkway,” Steve tells her. “Let’s get our seats before they fill up.”

 

“Uh, right,” she answers.

 

They walk up to the ticket inspector and Peggy gives up their tickets. They’re directed to Theater 12, which is about half full when they enter.

 

“Where do you want to sit?” Steve asks.

 

“Right in the middle,” Peggy says, already walking up.

 

Steve follows her, into an otherwise empty row and to the middle. They sit and Steve puts the popcorn bucket on his knee. He tugs out his phone and sends Bucky a text, telling him they’d found their seats in the theater, then puts it down and holds the popcorn out to Peggy.

 

“So, you were saying?” Peggy asks, taking a handful of the popcorn.

 

Steve looks at the popcorn and snorts.

 

“What?” she asks, frowning.

 

“We’re eating popcorn and getting into the dramatic highlights of my life in gangs,” Steve says quietly. Peggy laughs, too.

 

“Oh, that’s awful!” she whispers. “I’m not eating popcorn because I find your life entertaining, darling, I promise.”

 

“I know, I know,” Steve chuckles. “Anyway. Uh, I got adopted. My adoptive father is now in prison, as are half of the people I worked with. I spent a lot of time in red light districts.”

 

Peggy’s eyes get very wide again. Steve just shrugs again.

 

“I’m doing better now,” he tells her. “I actually have health insurance for the first time in nearly six years. I’m almost finished with my GED, NYU in the fall. Things are looking good.”

 

“You were a –?” Peggy looks mildly sick. She shakes her head, frowning heavily. “You were a prostitute?” she asks in a hushed voice.

 

“Yeah, for a while,” Steve says. “It’s not as bad as you’d think. I got very good at blowjobs.”

 

“But you were always so shy,” Peggy whispers. She looks up quickly and touches his arm. “I’m not casting any judgment on you or anything, I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me and I’m glad that it wasn’t an awful experience, but I just can’t see _you_ having sex for money. You always seemed so innocent.”

 

Steve laughs. “I grew out of that real fast,” he promises her. “I actually got to like it, y’know? I was worth a lot of money.”

 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Peggy says.

 

“And it wasn’t as scary as the movies make it seem,” Steve adds. “Mostly I got cold a lot in the winter. The guys I was working with got to be pretty dickish after Garrett – The man who brought me in, I mean – after he was arrested, but it wasn’t long before I was out. The whole gang got wiped out just last year.”

 

“Wait, Garrett?” Peggy repeats. “Do you mean John Garrett? Of Brass Fang?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says, frowning. “How –”

 

Peggy cuts him off by gasping. “Brass Fang’s that gang that was exploiting underage Omegas!” she hisses. “Steve!”

 

“Uh,” Steve says. “It wasn’t – I mean, it was, but –”

 

“Steve, that’s awful!” Peggy says.

 

“I’ve made my peace with it,” Steve insists gently. “I wasn’t really a child when it happened, I grew up real fast after I dropped out of high school, but I’ve made my peace with it. It’s in the past now.”

 

Peggy picks up his hand. “I’m so sorry any of that happened to you,” she says sincerely.

 

Steve shrugs again. “It happened,” he says. “I can’t change it, why be mad about it?”

 

Peggy squeezes his hand. “I actually did a project on the Brass Fang case this last semester,” she says. “The laws that Garrett utilized to trap those Omegas – to trap _you –_ ”

 

“It’s okay,” Steve insists. “I’ve moved on.”

 

Peggy squeezes his hand again. “Does your boyfriend know about all this?” she asks carefully.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Steve answers. “We met while I was still working for Fang. He knows everything.”

 

“And he supports you?” she presses.

 

“Definitely,” Steve promises, smiling. “He’s honestly the best thing that ever happened to me.”

 

Peggy gives a wide smile. “You must really love him,” she says.

 

Steve hesitates. He bites the words off the tip of his tongue, then shrugs.

 

“We haven’t been together _that_ long,” he tells her.

 

Peggy smiles still, her eyes crinkling at the corner. “I can tell,” she says, pushing at his hand. “You’ve got hearts in your eyes, Steve.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Steve laughs.

 

“You do!” Peggy insists. “You love him!”

 

Steve hesitates again. He reaches up and plays with the pendant hanging from the velvet choker around his neck, heart-shaped and inlaid with the initials _JBB._ Peggy grins and squeals, reaching over the popcorn bucket to hug him.

 

“You’re in love!” she says, pulling back. “The sooner you admit it to yourself, the better.”

 

Steve smiles at his knees, shrugging. “I don’t know,” he adds, “seven months a little soon to be in love?”

 

“Oh, posh,” Peggy says firmly, “you can fall in love in a fortnight, Steve.”

 

“Maybe,” Steve says very quietly, thinking back to that Tuesday in November, only two weeks after he’d met Bucky, and spiraling into existential fear over the subject of love. A fortnight.

 

Peggy must see his thoughts, because she squeals again and hugs him.

 

“Okay, okay, you’re gonna choke me and I only like being choked by Bucky!” he laughs, pushing her off gently.

 

“Kinky,” Peggy giggles.

 

“Very,” Steve snorts.

 

“Are we going to giggle over your sex life now?” Peggy asks with a broad grin.

 

“Oh, hell, yeah, girlfriend!” Steve says in a very gay voice.

 

Peggy laughs and claps her hands together. “Okay, what’s it like?”

 

“We’re in a dom/sub relationship that's almost a total power exchange,” Steve admits. “And he’s older than me, so he’ll talk to me like I’m so much younger than him.”

 

“That’s very kinky,” Peggy laughs. “Do you call him daddy?”

 

“Nah,” Steve says with a shrug, “at least, I don’t mean it. I’ll call him that when I’m feeling bratty because it makes him roll his eyes and I think it’s funny.”

 

Peggy laughs again. “Of course you do!”

 

“Anyway, we do a lot of BDSM,” Steve says. “He loves shibari, Japanese rope bondage, y’know? And honestly, I find it really calming, so a lot of the time I’ll throw rope at him, he’ll tie me up and then we’ll just chill. Doing all the ropes and stuff is also really relaxing for him, it’s working with his hands and all.”

 

“Aww,” Peggy says, “that’s adorable despite being incredibly kinky.”

 

“It’s not always about sex,” Steve tells her. “Like, if I’ve had a bad day, he’ll tie me up and have me kneel and then just pet me or hand-feed me, stuff like that. He’ll usually put on nature documentaries and just pet me until I’m feeling better.”

 

“That’s really sweet,” Peggy sighs.

 

“But then when it _is_ about sex!” Steve says, laughing. “He’s very good at that part, too.”

 

“Do you ever just have vanilla sex?” Peggy asks. “No whips or chains?”

 

“He doesn’t like chains,” Steve answers. Peggy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we’ll just fuck if we don’t want to do all the prep or clean-up for a full scene, but even then, he’s still my dom and I’m still his sub. I mean, why have mediocre sex when we could be kinky and have twice the fun?”

 

“I see,” Peggy laughs. “So, if you don’t call him daddy, what is he?”

 

“He’s my sir,” Steve says, throwing a bit of popcorn into his mouth.

 

“Sir,” Peggy repeats, sitting up straighter. “Y’know, my girlfriend asked a little while ago if we could try something like that, she wants to call me _mistress._ ”

 

“I’ve called him _master_ for a scene or two,” Steve says. “Does she want to be your kitten or puppy or what?”

 

Peggy frowns. “I don’t know,” she says. “We didn’t have a lot of time to talk about it.”

 

“If you need tips, Bucky’s been doing this for years,” Steve says. “He’s got fuckin’ certifications.”

 

Peggy laughs. “I don’t know if we would do anything I’d need a certification for.”

 

“Y’never know,” Steve adds with a shrug. “I’m sure he could point you to some clubs where you could take classes.”

 

“Classes?” Peggy repeats.

 

“Safety is sexy,” Steve quotes Bucky. “Some of this stuff can be dangerous.”

 

“I suppose,” Peggy muses. She adjusts herself in her seat. “I’ll look into taking classes.”

 

“And talk to your girl,” Steve adds, pointing at her with a piece of popcorn. “Maybe she just wants a gentle dom and you don’t need to learn how to wield a Martinet flogger.”

 

Peggy’s eyes get big. “I don’t even know what that is,” she says.

 

Steve pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his pictures for a minute, then looks up. “Do you mind seeing my ass? I’ve got some pictures of Bucky using one on me but I’m very naked.”

 

“I have seen your ass before,” Peggy says defensively.

 

Steve laughs, leaning over to show her.

 

“Oh,” she says. “I see where safety is a big concern.”

 

“Yeah, I had those welts for a few weeks,” Steve says. “That was Valentine’s Day, hang on, lemme show you a few weeks later –” He scrolls in his pictures, stopping later in March and opening a picture of just his bare body from the back. “See?”

 

“And you liked that?” Peggy asks, looking a bit squeamish.

 

“Yeah, I loved it,” Steve assures her. “But this is pretty up there in levels of masochism, you and your girl wouldn’t want to do anything like that for a while.”

 

“No,” Peggy muses. “I’ll see what she thinks.”

 

“Check out Uber Kinky,” Steve advises, “they’ve got a lot of guides as well as products, plenty of beginner and starter kits.”

 

Peggy gives a nod. The lights in the theater dim and both of them look up, then at the screen where they’d been ignoring the cheap previews.

 

 _“Phone calls during the movie are uncool,”_ the surround sound system announces.

 

“We’d better turn off our phones,” Peggy whispers, pulling out her phone.

 

Steve nods, picking up his. He hesitates for a second, then sends Bucky a text that he has to switch his phone off for the movie and will text him right after. He turns it off before he can think better of it, setting it off to the side. He takes a gulp from his Coke, then leans back in his seat with the popcorn bucket on his knee to watch the previews.

 

Two and a half hours later, the credits start to roll and Steve fixes to get up. He’s got to piss like a motherfucker, but Peggy snatches his hand.

 

“We’ve got to wait for an end credit scene,” she hisses.

 

“This isn’t a Marvel movie!” Steve hisses back.

 

Peggy gives him a look. Steve sighs and sits down.

 

“Count the Sarahs while we wait,” Peggy says.

 

“Do what?” Steve asks.

 

“The Sarahs,” Peggy says, “there, I’ve got seven.”

 

Steve blinks but turns his attention onto the credits. “Eight,” he says.

 

“I’ll get the right, you get the left,” Peggy adds.

 

“Why are we counting Sarahs?” Steve asks.

 

“Because there’s too many of them,” Peggy says. “Nine, twelve.”

 

“There are too many Sarahs?” Steve asks incredulously.

 

“Yes, there are too many Sarahs in the world!” Peggy insists.

 

“You realize my mother’s name was Sarah,” Steve says.

 

“Oh!” Peggy gasps, then turns to him with an apologetic grimace. “This is a slight on my old manager, Sarah, not against your mother.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Steve says with a wave of his hand. “She’d agree, anyway. Twelve, you said? There’s two.”

 

“Fourteen, fifteen,” Peggy says.

 

In the end, there’s no end credit scene, but they see the Humane Society’s stamp assuring that no animals were harmed in the making of the film and the filmmakers do not promote smoking, and there were at least forty-three Sarahs involved in the making of the film.

 

“Fuck you, Sarah,” Steve sighs, getting up. “C’mon, I have to pee.”

 

Peggy follows him out of the theater. They throw out their empty cups and the popcorn bucket on their way to the Omega bathroom and Peggy tells him about her manager Sarah who was an awful human being.

 

“She was nice on the surface but at the same time, she was vicious,” Peggy sighs.

 

“I’ve been there,” Steve says, neglecting to mention that in certain situations, he’d been that bitch. He pushes open the door to the Omega and Beta women’s bathroom, heading for the first empty stall.

 

“Hey!”

 

Steve stops just outside the stall, looking around.

 

“What are you doing in here?” an older, white-haired woman demands of him. “This is the women’s bathroom!”

 

“It’s the _Omega_ bathroom,” Steve counters, then flips her off. “Suck my external ovaries, bitch.”

 

He ducks into the stall to the sound of the old lady gasping and locks it quickly. He relieves himself and sighs, then takes the time to clean up after himself before zipping up and stepping back out.

 

“I’ll high five you after you’ve washed your hands,” Peggy says with a grin.

 

“Me, too,” another woman says.

 

Steve mocks a bow and washes his hands, using the hand dryer even though it will dry out his skin; there aren’t any paper towels. He turns and gives both Peggy and the random woman a high five, then takes Peggy’s elbow and walks her out.

 

“Well done,” Peggy says with a pleased grin as they leave the theater.

 

Steve smiles, smug, then spots the same old lady standing at the customer service desk and gesticulating angrily.

 

“Let’s exit post-haste,” Steve says, tugging on Peggy’s arm.

 

“Yikes,” Peggy says as she spots the old lady. Steve pushes through the crowds towards the doors, then takes a deep breath of exhaust fumes and distant smog outside.

 

“So, coffee,” Steve says, shoving his hands into his pockets. The gun strapped to his side presents a cold weight between his elbow and his waist.

 

“Yes, this way,” Peggy says, heading down the street. “It’s a little cafe I like to do homework in a lot, it’s not far.”

 

Steve links his arm through hers and puts a little bounce in his step. “So, what did you think?”

 

“Eh,” Peggy says. “I’m not too fond of Disney’s fanfiction, but they’re doing well.”

 

Steve laughs heartily. “Fanfiction!” he says, wheezing. “That’s a mood if I ever heard one.”

 

“Well, it’s not truly Star Wars!” Peggy defends herself. “I will be loyal to the Expanded Universe until I die.”

 

“Okay,” Steve says, holding up a hand, “which was better, Disney’s Star Wars or the Prequels?”

 

Peggy makes a face. “Why do you have to ask that?” she complains.

 

Steve laughs again. “I think the Prequels were good.”

 

“Sacrilege!” Peggy gasps.

 

“I watched them a lot when I was a kid!” Steve defends himself. “They’re, like, nostalgic.”

 

“I want to judge you but that’s really sweet,” Peggy complains.

 

“See?” Steve says, bumping his shoulder against hers. “So, Prequels or Disney?”

 

“Prequels,” Peggy sighs. “And I hate you for making me say the Prequels are any good at all.”

 

“Eh,” Steve says. “How far’s this cafe?”

 

“About twenty minutes,” Peggy says.

 

“Tell me about this girlfriend of yours,” Steve suggests. “I’ve got to give her my blessing as the gay best friend.”

 

Peggy laughs. “Well, her name is Angie,” she starts.

 

She tells Steve of how they’d met their first week at NYU, their first date and how it was a disaster, but she and Angie had managed to keep going despite it.

 

“Our anniversary’s coming up,” Peggy says after a few minutes chatter. “I can’t think what to get her.”

 

“What’s she into?” Steve asks.

 

They talk all the way to the cafe, a niche little joint several blocks away from the theater and closer to the NYU campus. Peggy’s just pointed out when a man cuts in front of them and abruptly turns around.

 

“Evening, ladies,” Lance says.

 

Steve and Peggy stop in their tracks; Peggy blinks while Steve gapes at Lance disbelievingly.

 

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

 

Lance raises his eyebrows. “I was following you,” he says simply, then gives him a pointed nod. “You’re in trouble.”

 

“What’s going on?” Peggy says sharply as Steve feels panic swelling in him.

 

His phone. His phone is still turned off. Steve yanks it out of his pocket, then claps a hand to his forehead and groans when it is still turned off.

 

“Why the hell were you following us?” Peggy continues to demand as Steve switches his phone back on. The boot-up screen greets him brightly and Steve taps a foot impatiently.

 

“I’m his bodyguard,” Lance tells her. “Boss said to tail you two.”

 

“He said I could go out alone tonight!” Steve snaps, not looking up from his phone.

 

“And you believed him,” Lance says with a shrug.

 

His phone finishes booting and loads. He has six missed calls from Bucky, four from Natasha, and two from Darcy. He’s not unconvinced that if he were to check Peggy’s phone, she’d have calls from Natasha’s number, but he never saw Peggy turn her phone back on, either.

 

“Shit,” Steve hisses.

 

“Quite,” Lance agrees. He touches Steve’s shoulder and gently turns him around. “This way, please.”

 

“No, hold on, you still haven’t explained yourself!” Peggy calls, grabbing Steve’s arm and yanking him back from Lance. “Who the hell are you? Who’s this _boss?_ ”

 

“The boss,” Lance answers evasively. “Ma’am, if you would please –”

 

A stretch SUV pulls up beside them and Lance stops in the middle of his sentence with a sigh. “Mr. Rogers, deal with your friend,” he says, then walks up to the SUV and gets in the front seat.

 

Steve turns to Peggy. “I’m sorry,” he starts, “I – I didn’t know how to explain.”

 

“What’s going on?” Peggy hisses.

 

The front window rolls down and Lance sticks his head out. “I’d advise you get in the car,” he calls out. “Boss is pretty pissed.”

 

“Shit,” Steve whispers. “Look, Pegs, I can explain later,” he offers, heading to the back of the car.

 

“No, I’m going with you!” Peggy insists, clinging to his arm. “What boss are they talking about?”

 

“My boyfriend,” Steve sighs. He glances at the car. “Alright,” he says, then opens the back door. “Can we drop Peggy off at her home, please?” he asks, getting in.

 

Bucky is sat on the far side of the backseat, a leg crossed over his knee and his face a stone mask. Steve sits opposite him and Peggy gets in beside him, shutting the door before she looks up.

 

“Oh, my God,” she whispers.

 

“I told you not to turn off your phone,” Bucky starts coldly.

 

“I turned it off before I saw that,” Steve answers. “I forgot to turn it back on when we left the theater –”

 

“Why the hell would you turn it off in the first place?” Bucky demands, sharp and angry. Steve falters. “What if something had happened?”

 

“Well, I’m sure my tail could have stepped in,” Steve answers, getting angry himself. “Speaking of, what the hell!”

 

“I told Hunter not to interfere unless necessary,” Bucky starts to say.

 

“You still had him following us!” Steve cuts him off. “I thought you trusted me!”

 

“It’s not a matter of trust,” Bucky snaps.

 

“No, I guess not,” Steve retorts, “you simply don’t believe I can take care of myself.”

 

“That’s not the issue!” Bucky insists, gesticulating angrily. “There are some things you can’t handle by yourself! You needed backup!”

 

“Backup for what?” Steve demands. “What aren’t you telling me?”

 

Peggy gropes vaguely in his direction, then latches onto his arm with talon-like fingers. “Steve,” she says very, very quietly.

 

Steve glances at her, then at Bucky. He exhales heavily.

 

“Peggy, this is Bucky,” he says, “my overprotective and paranoid boyfriend.”

 

Bucky’s face hardens. Steve regrets saying it immediately.

 

“I didn’t mean that –” he starts to say, but Peggy’s clearly not listening.

 

“That is James Barnes!” she hisses. “What the hell!”

 

“I was going to tell you,” Steve says, “I just didn’t know how to – to bring it up.”

 

Peggy looks between Bucky and Steve with wildness in her eyes. Steve grimaces.

 

“I’ll explain later, okay?” he promises. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

 

Peggy flicks her gaze to Bucky. She looks back at him and raises her eyebrows.

 

“I’ll explain later,” he promises again. “Just – Be patient –”

 

“This is the man you’re in love with?” Peggy demands in a hiss.

 

Steve sucks in a hard breath. He looks at Bucky, feeling his face draining of color, then back at Peggy, at a loss for words. Bucky’s mouth has slipped open but Steve can’t meet his eyes.

 

“Please,” Steve says very softly to Peggy, “I promise I’ll tell you everything later.”

 

Peggy opens her mouth and Steve grabs her arm, tugging on it.

 

“Now is not the time,” he says firmly. “I’ll answer all your questions later. Okay?”

 

Peggy searches his face. Slowly, she nods.

 

Biting his lip, Steve looks back at Bucky. Bucky’s bouncing his knee and looking out the window. His knuckles are white.

 

Steve gets up without thinking. He shoves Bucky’s ankle off his knee and straddles his lap. Steve pulls Bucky’s head into his neck and tangles one hand into Bucky’s hair, the other fisted in the back of his jacket. Bucky immediately jerks his arms around him, digging his hands into his back.

 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Steve says softly.

 

Bucky doesn’t say anything. His hands cling harder to Steve.

 

“What aren’t you telling me?” Steve asks him carefully.

 

Bucky lets out a long breath. He lifts one hand and starts petting Steve’s hair, gentle. Steve sits back, fisting his hands in the shoulders of Bucky’s jacket.

 

“Garrett’s appeal went through,” Bucky says quietly. Steve’s jaw slips open. “The judge wasn’t one of mine, there was nothing I could do. They’re releasing him in the morning.”

 

“You should’ve told me that!” Steve hisses. “I wouldn’t’ve – I would have let Hunter come _with_ us –”

 

“I didn’t want to ruin your night,” Bucky insists. Steve reaches up and brushes through his hair, then hugs him again, tightly. “I’m working on it,” Bucky promises. “He’s not gonna be out for much longer.”

 

“He’s not even out yet,” Steve mumbles.

 

Steve is not afraid of John Garrett, not especially. Garrett could be mean as a snake, but Steve had never been afraid of him. Or, he hadn’t been until he’d turned on Brass Fang and lead to their downfall. Snitches get stitches, after all.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbles.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Steve says quickly. He leans back again, then remembers Peggy is there and slips off of Bucky’s lap to kneel next to him; Bucky turns on the bench to face him, keeping both of his hands on Steve’s body.

 

“I can’t get him until after he’s released,” Bucky says, “killing him while he’s in prison would be too suspicious.”

 

Peggy inhales sharply behind them. Steve glances at her.

 

“We’ll talk about this at home,” he says, lifting a hand to brush a lock of hair from Bucky’s face. “It’s gonna be okay, Buck.”

 

Bucky cups his face with a hand, pulling him in to touch their foreheads together. “I can’t lose you,” Bucky says under his breath.

 

“You’re not gonna lose me,” Steve promises just as quietly. “It’ll be okay.”

 

He kisses Bucky quickly, then pulls back and knocks on the partition. It lowers and Steve leans over the bench into the front seat.

 

“Hi, Luke,” he says. “Can we take Peggy home?”

 

Luke gives a nod. Steve looks over his shoulder.

 

“What’s your address?” he asks.

 

“I’m on campus still,” Peggy says, then shakes herself. She recites her address and Steve turns back to repeat it.

 

“Alright,” Luke tells him. “No problem.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve answers, leaning back. The partition closes again. Steve drops his weight onto the bench, then touches Bucky’s face. “Are you okay?” he says softly.

 

Bucky exhales, then shakes his head. Steve shifts to press into his side, curling a hand over his knee. Bucky wraps his arms around him, hiding his face in Steve’s hair.

 

Peggy meets his gaze. She raises her eyebrows and mouths _What the fuck?_ Steve lifts a hand in a cautious shrug.

 

They aren’t far from the campus. Luke stops outside Peggy’s building and Steve detangles himself from Bucky to get out with her, standing on the curb with his hand shoved deep into his pockets. He looks at Peggy’s shoes, beat up white Chuck Taylors. They’ve got sharpie signatures all over them, his is most prominent on her left shoe.

 

“I should’ve lead with this,” he says.

 

“I understand why you didn’t,” Peggy answers gently.

 

Steve blows out his breath and looks up. “I get it if you don’t want to mix with all that,” he says. “I won’t be mad.”

 

“No, Steve,” Peggy starts, then sighs. “You’re my friend. You’re my oldest friend.”

 

Steve looks down again. Peggy reaches out and grips his shoulders.

 

“Are you sure that relationship is healthy?” she asks carefully.

 

“Yes,” Steve says easily. “I know it looks bad, especially after what you just saw – But I did promise to check in with him when we left the theater and I didn’t. He gets worried.”

 

“He had you followed!” Peggy hisses, shaking him.

 

“Pegs, I need you to listen to me,” Steve says, taking her shoulders in turn. “Brass Fang was disbanded because I turned on them.”

 

Peggy blinks.

 

“And Garrett just got his appeal,” Steve adds. “I’m probably not going to go anywhere without a bodyguard again in my life. It was pretty stupid of me to go out alone tonight, even, but I didn’t know Garrett was getting out. Bucky – He worries, but he’s good for me. I’m the safest with him.”

 

“But…” Peggy murmurs.

 

“I can’t ask you to be my friend without warning you,” Steve tells her sadly. “This life – You can’t get out of it. I know you love me, but there are risks now.”

 

He lets go of her, stepping back and closer to the car.

 

“Think about that,” Steve finishes. “Goodbye, Pegs.”

 

Steve starts to turn around. Peggy rushes him and hugs him tightly.

 

“Of course I still want to be your friend,” she says thickly. She pulls back and shakes him. “I’ll risk it, Steve.”

 

“You’re gonna be lookin’ over your shoulder every time we talk,” Steve warns her. “That’s no way to live.”

 

“I look over my shoulder every minute of the day already, I’m a woman,” Peggy says. She squeezes his shoulders. “Take care of yourself?”

 

Steve hugs her again. “I will,” he promises. “You do the same.”

 

Peggy nods. Steve lets her go and watches her enter her building, then opens the car door and gets in. He goes straight to Bucky’s lap, curling up in his arms. Bucky holds tightly to him and rocks him gently.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Steve promises.

 

“I never should’ve drug you into this,” Bucky says.

 

“You didn’t drag me anywhere, I was already there,” Steve insists kindly.

 

“I won’t let anybody touch you,” Bucky swears.

 

“I trust you,” Steve reminds him.

 

Bucky doesn’t ask about what Peggy had said. Steve is so grateful. He doesn’t know how he’d be able to deny it anymore.

 

At home, Bucky has Luke and Lance sweep the penthouse before they go in. As soon as they’re gone, Steve drags Bucky upstairs and the both of them change into pajamas. Steve puts on Bucky’s faded Army shirt and gently suggests Bucky tie him up. He had been serious when he’d told Peggy that it calmed both of them; it makes Steve feel reassured in Bucky's ownership of him and lets Bucky use his hands to make something beautiful. Bucky weaves a complicated but non-restrictive harness and Steve drags him back downstairs to collapse on the couch with him.

 

“Natasha can stay over while you’re gone next week,” he says to Bucky as they curl up on the couch.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky answers quietly.

 

Steve lies on top of him and Bucky keeps his hands locked around him. Steve puts on Planet Earth and rests his head in Bucky’s neck, putting all his focus on remaining calm and content until the tension unwinds in his Alpha. They go to bed early for a Friday night, Steve still in the Army T-shirt instead of his normal babydoll nightgown, sleep in the next day and stay in Saturday and Sunday. Monday dawns and Bucky is still sharp and anxious.

 

“I can’t not go,” he complains at breakfast. “These fuckers insist I deal with them personally, otherwise I’d send somebody to deal with it for me.”

 

“It’s okay,” Steve promises him. “I’ll be okay with Natasha.”

 

Natasha arrives at eight, sharp. Bucky kisses Steve goodbye and leaves for the airport right after, leaving them alone.

 

“So, what’s the plan?” Natasha asks.

 

“I’m doing your nails,” Steve says with finality. “And then I’ve got an exam.”

 

“I would rather swallow a flaming sword,” Natasha answers simply.

 

Steve grabs her hand and starts dragging her. “Too bad,” he says. “Your nails need TLC and I’m gonna give it to them.”

 

Natasha says something that’s probably a terrible insult in Russian and Steve ignores it. He pulls her into his and Bucky’s bathroom, makes her sit on the toilet, and does a full treatment to her nails.

 

“Why do you have to be so stereotypically gay?” Natasha sighs as he buffs her nails.

 

“I was the only twink in my high school,” Steve answers. “I had to set an example.”

 

“Was that example that all twinks are brats?” she asks.

 

“Pretty much,” Steve says. “What color do you want?”

 

“Bright red,” Natasha says.

 

“Of course,” Steve snorts.

 

After, they eat lunch in the kitchen and Steve gathers his things for his test.

 

“You got your piece?” Natasha asks him as she waits by the elevator.

 

Steve opens the coat closet, pushes the jackets aside, and unlocks the gun safe. He pulls out his Magnum and holds it up to her before checking the drum and safety and stowing it under his shirt.

 

“Remind me to let you shoot my Desert Eagle sometime,” Natasha says while he shuts the safe and locks it again.

 

“I would be knocked over,” Steve answers.

 

“Remind me to teach you how to shoot my Desert Eagle,” Natasha amends.

 

“Fair,” Steve says. “Let’s go.”

 

Natasha drives her less conspicuous Jeep to his school. They park in one of the student lots and Natasha seemingly conjures campus security to walk with them to the building his test is in. Steve is a bundle of nerves thanks to the tense atmosphere and the fact that this is his last final exam before he gets his GED, yet Natasha is cool as anything.

 

At his classroom, Steve’s classmates are gathered and chatting and quiet down when security enters. Steve heads for his seat in the back and Natasha simply follows him.

 

“Where’s your usual bodyguard?” Wade Wilson, the guy that inevitably always sits next to him, asks.

 

“I don’t have a bodyguard,” Steve answers. A lie; Hunter usually accompanies Steve to class and sits in the back of the room, watching the exits. Steve had to convince all of his professors not throw him out because he wasn’t a student.

 

“I’m his babysitter,” Natasha says.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. He pulls out his notes and sets to cramming before the exam officially starts.

 

Security hangs around for the test. Steve feels the most of his nerves dissipating as he reads through the exam; he knows plenty of the content. It takes him about an hour to complete the test, then he spends the next twenty minutes waiting for someone else to finish and hand theirs in by checking his answers. After he hands in his exam second, he thanks his professor and campus security walks him and Natasha out.

 

“Back home?” Natasha asks after she’s checked their car for bombs.

 

“Pit stop by the grocery store,” Steve says. He checks his phone; Bucky’s probably still on his plane, because he doesn’t have any texts. “You wanna order takeout for dinner?”

 

“Anything but pizza,” she agrees. “Barton eats it six times a week.”

 

“Thai it is,” Steve says.

 

Their grocery shopping goes off without issue. Steve buys himself pity ice cream and sends Bucky a pouty picture in the check-out just to assure him that he’s okay and missing him. Natasha checks the car again before she lets Steve load the groceries and halfway between the store and home, Bucky texts him back.

 

**_Sir:_ **

_Miss you too, brat_

 

Steve smiles to himself. He dials Bucky on FaceTime and leans on the center console to put his head on Natasha’s shoulder while it rings.

 

“Hey, punk,” Bucky greets. He’s in a taxi, looks like.

 

“Hi, Daddy,” Steve says. “Natashka, say hi.”

 

“Hi, Daddy,” Natasha answers flatly.

 

“Not you, too,” Bucky groans while Steve laughs.

 

“How was your flight?” he asks Bucky.

 

“Shitty,” Bucky sighs. “Couldn’t even drink ‘cause of this fucking medicine. I hate planes.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says with a sympathetic grimace. “Have you eaten?”

 

“Yes, ma,” Bucky answers, rolling his eyes. “Have you?”

 

“We’re getting Thai,” Steve tells him.

 

“How’d your test go?” Bucky asks then.

 

Steve shrugs. “I think I did good,” he says. “It wasn’t as hard as my biology exam.”

 

“Good,” Bucky replies. His gaze shifts away from the camera, then he lowers the phone and has a short exchange in Spanish. He lifts the phone again and grimaces at Steve. “I gotta go,” he says, “almost to the hotel. I’ll call you later.”

 

“Okay,” Steve answers, trying his best not to pout. “Bye!”

 

“Ciao, dragă mea,” Bucky replies before ending the call.

 

Steve sighs and lets his head flop against Natasha’s shoulder. She reaches over and pats his head.

 

“Poor baby,” she remarks.

 

“I’m making him take a vacation soon,” Steve complains. “To a remote island somewhere in the Pacific or something.”

 

“I don’t think he’s taken a vacation once in the entire time I’ve known him,” Natasha says.

 

“Which is?” Steve asks, looking up.

 

“About fifteen years,” she answers. Steve pouts and Natasha pats his head again. “But if anybody could convince him to take a break, it’d be you.”

 

“I’ve always wanted to go to Australia,” Steve muses.

 

“That’s not remote,” Natasha points out with a laugh.

 

“But the Great Barrier Reef!” Steve says, whiny.

 

“O moy Bog,” Natasha mutters, “how does he put up with all your whining? I’d’ve whipped some manners into you months ago.”

 

“He likes my whining,” Steve says smugly. Then frowns. “Wait, are you into dom/sub stuff too?”

 

Natasha looks at him with her eyebrows knit together in the corners. “Yeah,” she says like it should have been obvious. “Who do you think taught him?”

 

“Thank you,” Steve says, clapping his hands together. “Thank you so much.”

 

Natasha rolls her eyes heavily. “Why do you think I’ve been calling you a brat lately?” she huffs. She pulls into the parking and Steve sits up properly, leaning on the window instead of Natasha.

 

“I don’t know, I just thought you were teasing me,” Steve answers.

 

“I’ve been calling you a brat because you are one!” Natasha says, snorting. She rolls down her window and holds out her badge for the guard, then puts it back up and heads on into the garage. “Bucky must like you acting like a brat, otherwise he’d’ve tamed you already.”

 

“Pssh,” Steve answers, waving a hand dismissively, “all he gotta do to make me cut it out is put me on my knees.”

 

Natasha laughs. “Of course,” she says. “You have manners when you want something.”

 

Steve grins to himself. Natasha casts him a glance, then reaches over and ruffles his hair.

 

“You’re cute, kid,” she says.

 

“Did Bucky tell you to do all this?” Steve asks.

 

Natasha shrugs. “He said you like attention and having your hair petted; ergo –” She ruffles his hair again.

 

Steve makes a face, waving her off. “Bucky doesn’t share!” he says incredulously.

 

“He’s not sharing you, I’m babysitting,” Natasha insists with another laugh. “Or just plain sub-sitting, depending on how you two do shit.”

 

Steve sits up straight and becomes the blinking man gif. Natasha laughs at him.

 

“I think it was more for his peace of mind than to feed your craving for affection,” Natasha says a little more seriously. “So he knows you’d be okay as well as safe while he’s gone.”

 

“Oh,” Steve says.

 

Natasha casts him an exasperatedly fond look. “You really are dumb sometimes,” she says. “He really cares for you, y’know?”

 

“I know,” Steve says quickly.

 

Natasha parks the car and cuts the engine. She turns to look at him, her face frank.

 

“I know you and me got started on the wrong foot,” she begins and Steve twists to face her properly. “For that, I’m sorry. I tend to assume the worst of people – You and Bucky, you’re nothing like what I expected.”

 

“What did you expect?” Steve asks carefully.

 

Natasha shrugs. “For you to ruin him for your own gain,” she says bluntly. “But you’re genuinely good for him. He was such a workaholic before he met you and now he’s actually taking weekends off on a regular basis. He took more time off from work the first month you were together than the past year – He’s taken more time off with you in the past seven months than he ever did in the past seven years. You guys just seem to be…”

 

Natasha trails off, as though looking for the right words. Then she shrugs again.

 

“Meant to be,” she admits.

 

Steve bites his lip and looks down. “You think so?”

 

“Sure,” Natasha answers. “He’s good for you, too. I mean, it’s not like you ever lasted so long with anyone else in the past.”

 

“How do you know that?” Steve asks suspiciously.

 

Natasha raises her eyebrows at him. “Kid, I worked for the KGB. I know everything about you.”

 

Steve’s eyes get wide. “Uh,” he says.

 

“Your father’s name is Joseph William Kent,” Natasha starts, “his wife’s name is Rachel Analyse Norman, your half-siblings names are Timothy Bradford, Anna Grace, Kendra Lynn, and Joseph William, Jr. Your mother was Sarah Alicia Rogers, born September 21st, 1973, she was a registered nurse and worked at Boston General until her cancer diagnosis on January 10th, 2010. You were born from an emergency C-section at Boston General at 3:47 A.M. on July 4th, 1994, two months premature.”

 

“Holy shit,” Steve mutters.

 

“You weighed three pounds and five ounces,” Natasha adds.

 

“I didn’t even know that!” Steve says. “Why would you find all that stuff out? That is just excessive!”

 

“I’m a spy, no intel is excessive,” Natasha snorts.

 

She pops her door and gets out, Steve stares at where she had been for a second before shaking himself and getting out. He walks around the car and Natasha takes his hand rather than waiting for him to do it, walking him to the elevator.

 

“You have another half-sibling,” Natasha says abruptly. Steve looks at her with wide eyes. “Parker, born December 14th, 1999. Kid legally had his name changed to Peter in 2014.”

 

“Peter Parker’s my half-brother!” Steve gasps. “You’re shitting me!”

 

“I’m not,” Natasha promises.

 

The elevator doors open. Natasha steps inside and waves her badge at the operator, the same old basic white guy.

 

“Penthouse,” she says simply.

 

The operator exhales. Steve is shocked when he speaks because he's _never_ heard the operator's voice.

 

“I need proper authorization to allow access to the penthouse floor.”

 

Natasha blinks. She waves her badge again. “That’s not proper authorization?”

 

“No, ma’am,” the operator says.

 

Steve holds out his left hand and flashes the signet ring on his middle finger. It’s smaller than the one Bucky wears, flatter, but still bears the Seyrbakov crest. The operator nods and enters the code to take the elevator to the 95th floor.

 

Natasha shoots him a glare. “That’s unfair,” she says.

 

“I’m the one that lives there,” Steve answers defensively.

 

Natasha huffs. She’s silent the rest of the way to the penthouse and Steve waits until after they’ve exited the elevator to resume interrogating her.

 

“Peter Parker,” he says, “as in tech whiz, works at Starbucks, cousin of Grant Ward?”

 

“They’re second-cousins,” Natasha answers. “And yes, that’s him.”

 

“He’s my half-brother?” Steve mutters.

 

Natasha shrugs. “Your father got around?” she suggests.

 

“That fucker,” Steve spits. “I’ll bet he denied Peter was his son, too; his mother died years ago, before mine.”

 

“He did,” Natasha confirms. “But Parker lives with his aunt, so it wasn’t as much of an issue.”

 

“He’s my little brother!” Steve gasps, grabbing his hair. “I’ve never even gotten him a birthday gift! I’ve known him since he was fifteen! And he’s my little brother!”

 

“Half-brother,” Natasha throws in.

 

“I guess he wouldn’t know either,” Steve says. “Would he?”

 

Natasha shrugs. “I wouldn’t think so.”

 

“I gotta figure out how to break that to him,” Steve says, dropping his backpack by the elevator and dropping onto the piano bench. Natasha wanders over and leans on it, propping her chin on her hand. “Fuck, how do you tell someone you’ve known for three years that you have the same dickbag for a father?”

 

Natasha shrugs again. “I told Bucky his father stuck his dick in my mother.”

 

Steve gives her a startled look. “Bucky’s actually your brother?”

 

“Half-brother,” she says calmly.

 

“I never knew that!” Steve claims. "I thought he meant you were close to him like a sister!"

 

Natasha shrugs a third time. “Very few people know. Actually, you’re the fourth person to know.”

 

Steve makes an angry pout. Natasha sticks out her bottom lip in a mockery of his pout and reaches over to pat his head.

 

“Poor baby,” she says.

 

Steve glares at her. Natasha laughs at him, then stands up straighter.

 

“Play me something,” she says.

 

Steve looks at the piano, then at her. “I don’t play piano,” he says.

 

“You took lessons for eight years,” Natasha counters.

 

Steve opens his mouth. Natasha raises her eyebrows, as though daring him to deny it.

 

“I was never very good,” he tries to say.

 

“You won a regional competition in 2009,” Natasha fires back. “You qualified for nationals, why didn’t you go?”

 

“My mother had stage four cancer?” Steve says with a shrug.

 

Natasha considers this. “Fair,” she says. “Play me something. Try Fur Elise again.”

 

Steve looks at the keys, lifts his hands, then stops. “Wait, again?”

 

“Bucky showed me the video of you playing it last year,” Natasha admits with a smirk.

 

“You fucker,” Steve says.

 

Natasha shrugs. She raps her knuckles on the piano. “Fur Elise,” she says. “Go on.”

 

“You’re using my compulsion to please against me,” Steve accuses.

 

Natasha smiles at him. “But of course. Play Fur Elise for me and I’ll give you a treat, kiddo.”

 

Steve makes a face at her. But his fingers find the keys and he begins to play.

 

Like the last time he’d stopped and played the piano, the first few bars of the song are iffy. Then Doc Erskine’s voice, his old piano teacher, echoes in his head, reminding him to improve his posture and let his fingers flow more naturally, and the sloppiness of his rhythm improves itself a quarter of the through the song.

 

“There,” Natasha says, lifting off the piano again. “That was lovely, Steve.”

 

Steve looks at his hands and shrugs.

 

“Hmm,” Natasha adds. Steve looks up and squints at her. “C’mere,” she says, however. “Let’s rent a movie.”

 

“Is that my treat?” Steve asks dryly, getting up from the piano bench.

 

“Yep,” Natasha answers with a smug grin.

 

“Great,” Steve says, rolling her eyes.

 

“We’ll watch Magic Mike,” Natasha adds, throwing an arm over his shoulders and dragging him into a headlock to ruffle his hair again. “And then you can call Bucky and whine about how Aunt Natasha got you horny and you need him.”

 

Steve makes a grossed out face. “ _Aunt_ Natasha got me horny? ” he repeats with disgust. “Rephrase that!”

 

“Mistress?” Natasha says. Steve grimaces harder. “You have very few options here, kiddo.”

 

“Why don’t I just call you Natasha?” he suggests dryly, then goes dead weight in her headlock and manages to catch her off guard. He pops back up and walks over to the couch, plopping down and grabbing the remotes out of the coffee table.

 

“You fish!” Natasha accuses him, hopping over the back of the sofa and grabbing him in another headlock. Steve drops onto his ass and twists out of her grip. “What the fuck!” she laughs.

 

“I took women’s self-defense,” Steve says simply, turning on the TV. “Right, Magic Mike. I have actually seen that movie, y’know.”

 

“Eh,” she answers, lounging back on the leather cushions and throwing her legs up onto the back of the couch. “It’s a girl’s night classic.”

 

Steve looks at her out of the corner of his eye with a blank face. Natasha snorts.

 

“It’s either this or Mean Girls,” she says.

 

Steve sighs heavily. “Fine,” he says. He opens Amazon and looks it up. “There’s no point in you paying for it, it’ll charge Bucky.”

 

“Fine,” Natasha echoes. She plops her legs into Steve’s lap instead of laying them over the couch’s back. “Have you got popcorn?”

 

“You get it,” Steve says.

 

“I’m the guest, kid,” Natasha counters. “Go get the popcorn.”

 

Steve gives her a glare. Natasha just smiles.

 

“I’m telling Bucky you ordered me around all week,” he says, getting up.

 

“And he’ll tell you that he gave me his consent to order you around,” Natasha answers. “I’m sub-sitting, remember?”

 

Steve flips her off on his way into the kitchen. She laughs.

 

Popcorn obtained, the two of them settle down to watch Magic Mike XXL. They eventually get real food and end up both sprawled over the sofa with their dinner, their legs tangling in the center, and Steve wishes he’d watched this movie with Bucky because he is, in fact, horny by the time it's over.

 

“Ha,” Natasha says as the credits roll. “Go call your daddy, kid.”

 

“You really have to think about how you phrase things,” Steve says, getting up. “Guest room’s made up for you, you’ve got your own bathroom, linens are fresh, blah blah. If you need something, you’re an adult, get it yourself.”

 

“Say hi to Bucky for me!” Natasha calls after him as he takes the stairs two at a time.

 

Steve kicks his door shut and flops onto his bed, on Bucky’s side, and calls Bucky on FaceTime.

 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky answers tiredly.

 

“Natasha insisted we watch Magic Mike and now I’m horny,” Steve says.

 

Bucky becomes the blinking man gif. “I told her not to do that,” he mutters.

 

“Buck,” Steve whines.

 

Bucky gets up from wherever he is, goes into a bathroom and shuts the door.

 

“Go get the custom dildo,” he tells Steve, meaning the one made from a mold of his actual dick. “And some nipple clamps, I think. The ones with the chain.”

 

“Yes, sir!” Steve says happily, jumping up from the bed.

 

Sometime around one in the morning, Steve – having just cleaned up and changed into Bucky’s Army T-shirt – lies down on Bucky’s side of the bed and sets his phone on its cradle. The screen blinks to register that it’s charging and Steve tucks a hand under his face, smiling at Bucky.

 

“You’re precious,” Bucky tells him in a sweet, happy tone. “Such a treat and you listen so well.”

 

Steve smiles wider. He’s sure that if Bucky were here, he’d be petting Steve’s hair by now. Then Steve yawns and blinks a few times, snuggling closer to Bucky’s pillow.

 

“Go to sleep, sweet Omega,” Bucky says. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, I’ll see you Wednesday night.”

 

“G’night,” Steve mumbles back to him, blowing a lazy kiss in his direction. There are words on the tip of his tongue, but it’s not difficult to swallow them. “Stay on the phone?” he asks instead.

 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bucky answers. “I’ll be right here.”

 

Steve blows him another kiss. Bucky catches it and brings it close to his chest, still bare from their play over the phone.

 

“Te iubesc, propria mea,” Bucky murmurs to him as he slips out of consciousness.

 

Steve dreams of lying in bed next to Bucky in a hotel room and watching something stupid on TV. Neither of them pays attention. Bucky traces his jaw and tells him that he loves him. And Steve, in his dream, is happy to say it back.

 

“Rise and shine, brat!” Natasha’s voice cuts into his dreams.

 

Steve jerks upright, blinking hard. For a second, he has no idea why he’s hearing Natasha’s voice or why he’s lying on Bucky’s side of the bed instead of his own.

 

“We got errands to run!” Natasha yells from the doorway, then shuts the door sharply.

 

“What the fuck?” Steve mutters.

 

He throws the blankets off of his legs and looks around, confused by Natasha’s presence and Bucky’s absence, until he remembers that Bucky is in Brazil and Natasha is babysitting him. He pouts.

 

Steve gets out of bed and shoves his feet into slippers. Belatedly, he realizes that they’re Bucky’s. After they fall off his feet when he takes a step away. Grumbling under his breath, he kicks them under the bed and stomps around to the other side of the bed to get his slippers. He tugs his dressing gown off the bathroom door and tugs it on, barely remembering to tie it shut before he makes his way out of the bedroom.

 

Natasha is in the kitchen, pouring coffee into two mugs.

 

“How do you take yours?” she asks.

 

Steve sticks out his hand. “Black. Gimme,” he says.

 

Natasha raises her eyebrows. “Is that how you ask nicely?”

 

Steve glares at her. Natasha raises her eyebrows further. Steve exhales forcefully.

 

“Please,” he grumbles.

 

“You’re welcome,” Natasha replies, picking up his mug and pressing it into his hand. “What do you want for breakfast?”

 

Steve walks over to the island counter and automatically hops onto it. He sips his coffee, sighs contentedly, and shrugs.

 

“Whatever,” he says.

 

“What do you normally have on Tuesdays?” Natasha counters.

 

Steve screws up his nose. Bucky has a set breakfast menu – “Routine is good for you,” Bucky had claimed when he’d made the menu four months ago – so they eat the same thing every Tuesday morning.

 

“French toast sticks,” he says eventually.

 

“What’s your protein?” she asks, opening the freezer.

 

“Sausages,” Steve says, yawning. Then he smiles wickedly. “Bucky’s sausage.”

 

Natasha straightens up and gives him a disapproving look. “Bucky’s dick does not count as protein,” she says.

 

Steve shrugs. “Nut?” he suggests.

 

“Semen doesn’t have enough protein to be remotely helpful,” Natasha answers flatly.

 

“Yes, but I get a lot of it every day,” Steve reminds her.

 

Natasha looks at the fridge and sighs. “You’re worse before your coffee,” she says. Then she turns and points at him. “Drink that! And don’t say another word until you’ve finished it!”

 

“Yes, Ma,” Steve says under his breath, raising his mug back to his lips.

 

Natasha manages to find the French Toast sticks and breakfast sausages in the freezer without his help. She puts the French Toast in the toaster oven and cooks the sausages on the griddle while Steve stays perched on the island counter, sipping his coffee. He finishes his cup eventually and gets down to refill it, and by then significantly more awake than he’d been before.

 

“Do you normally eat at the table?” Natasha asks him.

 

“As opposed to where?” Steve returns, simply blinking at her.

 

“The floor,” Natasha answers calmly.

 

Steve blinks some more. He hadn’t realized she meant him in particular; he thought she'd been asking if he and Bucky ate in the living room or whatever.

 

“It’s about 50/50,” he says after a second’s thought.

 

“Do you want to eat at the table or on the floor, then?” she asks, serving their plates.

 

Steve thinks about it. “Bucky feeds me when I’m on the floor,” he says.

 

“I assumed,” Natasha answers. She carries the plates over to the table and sits. “Whatever you need, kid.”

 

Steve clutches his mug of coffee for a second, then puts it on the table and walks around to pull his kneeling pillow from a cupboard. He drops it by Natasha’s chair and sits on his bottom with his legs folded.

 

Natasha sets a hand in his hair and scratches her nails lightly against his scalp. Steve exhales softly.

 

“Fork or fingers?” Natasha asks.

 

“Fork,” Steve says. “Too sticky for fingers.”

 

“Fair point,” Natasha replies. She shifts her chair to look at him and holds a forkful of food to his lips. “Open up.”

 

Steve needs little encouragement. Natasha uses her left hand to feed him and herself, swapping forks between them, and leaves her right hand in his hair. Bucky normally keeps up a steady stream of praise as they eat, but Natasha isn’t Bucky and Steve doesn’t mind that her only encouragement is her hand stroking his hair.

 

“Let me know when you’re done,” she says, rather than making him eat the full portion.

 

Steve resolves to ask her how much Bucky had shared with her in preparation for her stay with him later, when he’s not fuzzy from being petted. (Which is a different fuzzy than subspace or the calmness he gets when Bucky ties him up. Natasha or Bucky or anyone, really, petting him merely results in a pleased humming in the back of his mind.)

 

“I’m done,” Steve says a few minutes later. Natasha simply nods and pushes his plate away.

 

“You ate most of it,” she tells him, then says nothing else. She continues to eat and to pet him and Steve eventually pulls his coffee mug off the table to sip it while she finishes.

 

When she’s done, Natasha pats his head before getting up and putting the plates in the dishwasher. Steve finishes his coffee before standing up, stretching a bit, and putting away his cushion.

 

“We’re doing business today,” Natasha tells him. “Go get dressed, wear something practical that won’t stand out.”

 

Steve puts his mug in the dishwasher and goes. He kind of likes being babysitted by Natasha.

 

In his bedroom, he checks his phone first. Bucky’s sent him a good morning text, to which he replies with a selfie of his bedhead. Instagram, among other apps, wants his attention. Steve ignores the other notifications on his phone and sets about dressing for the day. It’s warm out, so he just wears plain chinos and a loose spotted navy button-up. He brushes his teeth and goes about his skincare routine in the bathroom, then combs his hair and uses Bucky’s pomade to set it in place. He’s got his own hair products, but Bucky’s worn the same pomade for (apparently) twenty years and it reminds Steve of him.

 

He still wears his beat-up red Chucks. Bucky offered to replace them once, but when Steve had declined, Bucky had had them repaired instead. Steve had almost cried. He’d gotten them with Peggy on his 15th birthday, the last birthday he’d had his mother in her right mind and the last gift he had from her. Bucky didn’t even know their significance, and he’d taken the time to see them restored anyway.

 

Dressed, Steve meets Natasha downstairs. She’s on her phone with a frown creasing her forehead, and she’s dressed in dark-wash jeans and a leather jacket.

 

“It’s over ninety degrees outside,” he reminds her.

 

Natasha pulls her jacket away, revealing the gun strapped to her side. “Get your piece,” she tells him, still looking at her phone.

 

Steve sighs, but gets his holster and Magnum from the safe. Natasha looks up from her phone once he has them on, then summons the elevator.

 

“I have business to run,” she tells him, “so today’s a field trip, kid. You know who Johann Schmidt is?”

 

Steve shakes his head. The name is familiar but he can’t connect it to an identity.

 

“He’s a wacko Neo-Nazi,” Natasha says simply. “We’re paying him a visit today to see if he’s worth the trouble to whack.”

 

“He’s a Nazi,” Steve says with a wrinkled nose.

 

“My money’s on he doesn’t leave our meeting alive,” Natasha confides. “But Murdock keeps telling me to speak with these nuisances before I kill them, so we’re doing the lawyer a favor and talking to him.”

 

Steve shrugs. “Whatever you say, Natashka.”

 

The elevator parts and Natasha steps inside, Steve on her heels. At the garage, they take her Jeep.

 

“We’re meeting in Prospect Park over in Brooklyn,” she tells him, putting on his seatbelt for him. Steve’s impressed with how seriously she’s taking this sub-sitting. “I hear you have a talent for making Nazis nervous.”

 

Steve brightens and gives her a grin. “I’m gonna enjoy this, aren’t I?” he asks.

 

“Get him angry and give me an excuse to pop him,” Natasha says, cranking the engine of the Jeep. “We’ll dump the body in the lake; I’ve got weights in the trunk. Good deal?”

 

“Deal,” Steve agrees.

 

The drive takes about an hour. Natasha walks with him to a bench near the duck pond and sits, sunglasses perched on her nose. Steve occupies himself with his phone.

 

“He’s late,” Natasha whispers to him five minutes after they sit down. “Another five minutes and –”

 

She doesn’t finish her sentence. Steve looks up at her and she’s yanking a feathered dart out of her neck.

 

“Run,” Natasha croaks, slumping off the bench.

 

Steve yanks out his Magnum and jumps to his feet, backing up from the bench. He looks around wildly, trying to find the shooter. Natasha lies motionless on the ground, but he can’t just _leave_ her there –

 

“Rape!” he screams. “9-11! Rape, help!”

 

A jogger sprints into view; Steve levels his weapon on them.

 

“Hands where I can see them,” he orders. The jogger jerks their hands into the air. “Can you lift her?” he asks, jerking his head towards Natasha.

 

“Probably,” the jogger says, “but I won’t.”

 

In the next three seconds, a lot of things happen. A cloth is slammed over his mouth. Steve drops his gun like an idiot but hastily stops breathing at the scent of chloroform. He fumbles in his pocket, he aims his gaze at the ground and his thumb shakes as he opens FaceTime. He hits call on Bucky’s number, but then he’s hauled off his feet and the phone falls from his hand, hitting the ground and shattering the screen.

 

“Didn’t think we’d forget, would ya?” a man hisses in his ear. Steve’s vision is going black at the corners, but he recognizes the voice. Ward’s supposed to be in prison.

 

Ward shakes him and Steve coughs; the chloroform fumes on the cloth fill his mouth and he chokes. He struggles weakly, but going dead weight won’t help him when Ward is cradling him on his lap. He tries to twist and only flops uselessly.

 

Distantly, he hears Bucky’s voice. Steve sees jean-clad legs walking up to him, then crouch, and John Garrett grins at him.

 

“Heya, kiddo,” he says. “Long time, no see, huh?”

 

Steve tries in vain to struggle. Garrett continues to smile at him, then a blindfold is tugged over Steve’s eyes. The blackness reeks of mildew and dust. His hearing cuts out only to the sound of Ward breathing. He passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yeah, no, i wasn't subtle. leave me a comment anyway if you liked this bc face it, we're all just masochists as much as steve. check out chaos's art from[chapter 1](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179382932886/barnes-leaves-his-hand-where-its-barely-touching) and [chapter 8](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179487629801/steve-realizes-that-hes-shivering-bucky-finally) bc they're amazing and so is chaos, she's the best and i love her. check out chapter 24 later tonight when it's released some time between 6 and 8 pm bc i do not want to make a guarantee with my track record of being late. see you then!_
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	24. 14 hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i'm not going to spend time making witty jokes bc steve has been kidnapped and bucky's finna smash some heads okay let's go_

##  _14 hours_

 

Bucky swipes a hand over his eyes with a long groan and looks around the barebones hotel room. The moth-eaten curtains are letting in light from the sunlight outside and the air conditioner is rattling as it tries vainly to cure the humidity in the room that had finally woken him.

 

Bucky sits slumped on the bed, trying to will himself to get up. He needs to shower and get out of the shitty hotel he’d booked under a false name and get his day over with. But it’s difficult to find the motivation when he knows he has three hours before he has to call a taxi to meet with the guys from the company he’s buying out.

 

Instead, he leans back in the bed and picks up his phone. It isn’t fully charged, but he’d expected that, considering that he’d never ended the call with Steve. He leans back against his pillows and just looks at Steve’s sleeping profile.

 

His Omega is curled up on Bucky's side of the bed, hugging Bucky's pillow, wearing a T-shirt of Bucky's. A year ago, Bucky would have been delighted to have an excuse to leave the country, where his every move is watched by the hawks at the FBI and the rats in his own employ. Now, he can’t wait until he gets back home.

 

The call’s flashing a warning at him, reminding him that it’s been in progress for six hours. Reluctantly, Bucky hangs up. He has to shower.

 

So he showers. The bathroom’s clean, at least. It’s weird to not have Steve tugging on his arm and begging him to wash his hair, so Bucky doesn’t take long. He dresses quickly and walks to the other bed, then hits Clint’s feet.

 

“Get up!” he calls.

 

Clint snorts and rolls over. Bucky rolls his eyes and wonders how Natasha deals with him.

 

“Francis!” Bucky calls out. “Get your ass out of bed!”

 

Clint snorts again, but sits up to blink slowly. “Bacon?” he mumbles.

 

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Get up, dressed, we’ll get breakfast on the way out.”

 

Clint nods at him, then turns over and flops face first onto his pillow. He starts snoring again.

 

Bucky inhales deeply, lets it out, then walks over to his suitcase and digs out his bottle of anti-anxiety meds. He shakes one out and throws it back, then closes the bottle and shoves it under his socks. He turns back to Clint’s bed, walks over, and rips the blankets off of him.

 

“Hey!” Clint gasps, sitting bolt upright.

 

“Get up,” Bucky says sharply.

 

Clint scowls at him, then checks his watch. He looks back up and resumes scowling.

 

“It’s six in the morning,” he says.

 

“I know,” Bucky answers. “We’re getting an early start. Get up.”

 

Clint sighs but rolls out of bed. Bucky crops into the single chair in the room and tugs out his phone. He stares at his phone for a while, then sends Steve a short _Good morning_ text and opens his itinerary instead. Breakfast at seven, meeting with the company officials at eight, lunch at one, plane at four, home by seven the following morning. As he hears the shower turning on, Bucky gets back up and checks his guns. Fully loaded, not a bullet out of place. The mechanisms haven’t been tampered with overnight. He checks the markings on the end of each bullet casing to make sure they haven’t been rotated even, then holsters the guns on his person. One on each ankle, two at his ribs under his jacket. He sits again and bounces a knee as he waits for Clint to get out of the shower.

 

By the time Clint does, the anti-anxiety medication has kicked in and the usual knot of worry in Bucky’s chest has detangled somewhat. Only somewhat. He’s stubbornly refusing to take anything but the lowest possible dose.

 

“Breakfast?” Clint asks, yawning.

 

“Protein bars,” Bucky says, pointing to his suitcase.

 

Clint makes a face, but takes one. Bucky gets up and packs up his things, shoving a couple of protein bars in the pockets of his trousers for later. Clint throws his things into his bag and Bucky checks the room for misplaced items. There aren’t any and they leave.

 

“These things taste like cardboard and glue,” Clint grumbles as Bucky hails a taxi.

 

“I didn’t buy them for taste,” Bucky answers absently. He waves again, frustrated, and finally, a cab pulls up in front of them.

 

The driver gets out to help them with their bags and Clint distracts them while Bucky uses his phone to scan for unnecessary radio signals, unusual electrical signatures, the usual. When the cab comes up clean, Bucky puts away his phone and Clint stops stalling with the driver. They load their baggage in the trunk and get in the back, the driver climbing into the front seat.

 

Bucky gives him directions to the company headquarters in Porteguese, though a few of Bucky’s European Portuguese words don’t translate well into the dialect spoken there in Brasília. The driver understands, however, and they work around it. The taxi drops them off at 7:43. An intern with fairly good English walks them through the humble building to a conference room, where a dozen Brazilian men have gathered around a table.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes!” the guy in charge greets him warmly. Bucky shakes his hand with little other acknowledgment of his greeting.

 

“We hope this meeting will be fortuitous for both sides!” the vice president of the company tells him.

 

“Let’s get right into it,” Bucky says, taking his seat. Clint stands near the back with their bags, alert despite the fact that half an hour ago, he’d been yawning every few seconds.

 

Bucky hates negotiating these things. He’s pretty shit at holding onto his patience, so normally he leaves it to Natasha or Nelson and Murdock, but his presence had been demanded. It’s fairly obvious why by nine.

 

His phone begins ringing. Bucky has the generic ringtone for most of his contacts, but this ringtone is cheerier and louder.

 

“Excuse me,” he says, going to answer Steve’s call.

 

“Ah, no, no phone call, thank you,” the company president says.

 

“Excuse me,” Bucky repeats firmly, standing up. He doesn’t miss the worried looks passed between the Brazilian men. Bucky swipes _Answer_ and walks toward Clint. Clint tugs out his phone, too.

 

“What’s the matter?” he asks sharply.

 

The camera shows Steve’s pant leg. Bucky frowns, but then the image shifts and he can see Steve’s hands jerking out of frame just before the screen shatters. Bucky's heart stops.

 

“Call the pilot,” Bucky says to Clint.

 

“We are not finished!” the Brazilian President calls.

 

Bucky shoves open the doors to the conference room without responding to them, knocking over the intern guarding it. He’s yelling Steve’s name and no one is answering.

 

“ – fuel up and prep to take off ASAP,” Clint is saying into his phone.

 

“Somebody fucking answer me, God dammit!” Bucky yells at his phone.

 

A boot swings into the camera’s frame and kicks Steve’s phone over. Bucky’s screen is taken over by blackness.

 

“Call the cops in New York, get a trace on Steve’s phone –” Bucky yells at Clint.

 

“Hello?” a voice says from his phone’s speakers. Clint is flagging a cab and talking on his own phone still.

 

“Who the hell is this?” Bucky demands.

 

Someone picks up Steve’s phone. Bucky covers his mouth with a hand, then sweeps it away and shakes his phone as the image blurs and settles on a face.

 

“Hey, there!” John Garrett says pleasantly. “I wasn’t expecting to have to talk with you so soon. I thought our friends in Brazil would be blocking your phone calls.”

 

“I’m connected to a satellite,” Bucky snaps. “Where’s Steve?”

 

“He’s in good hands, I promise,” Garrett answers in a calm tone. “He and I are gonna be having some father-son bonding time, y’know what I mean?”

 

“You’re no fucking father,” Bucky snarls. “You fucking signed him up to work the sex circuit the second he was in your custody!”

 

“Ah, well, that was an unfortunate situation,” Garrett sighs. “The adoption fees were so much more than I anticipated and Steve – He just wanted to help out, y’know, he’s a good kid.”

 

“Where is he?” Bucky demands again. _Where the fuck is Natasha? She was supposed to be watching him!_ “If you put one hand on him –”

 

“Now, now, Barnes,” Garrett interrupts, “shouldn’t it be _me_ telling _you_ not to put a hand on Steve? You’re the most dangerous Alpha in the country, you’re no good for Steve! And what’s this I hear about you beating him?”

 

Bucky feels his heart stop.

 

“I don’t –” he starts and Garrett cuts him off.

 

“You ought’a be grateful I’m not coming after you directly for ever hurting my son,” Garrett says.

 

“What do you want?” Bucky snaps.

 

Clint catches his gaze; he’s flagged a cab. Bucky uses one hand to sign _Take_ at him and Clint nods. While Clint draws a gun and hijacks the taxi, Bucky focuses on Garrett.

 

“I want very little from you, Barnes,” Garrett tells him. “One, ten million dollars. Obvious, naturally, why wouldn’t I ask ransom of you to get your pretty boy back?”

 

Bucky clenches a fist and swears a blue streak in his head; there’s a real _rat_ somewhere, someone’s been watching them –

 

“Second, I want you to turn yourself in to the FBI,” Garrett says. Bucky’s blood runs fully cold at that. “Full confession to everything you’ve done since you were discharged from the Army. I understand that might be a laundry list, considering the number of atrocities you’ve committed in the past fifteen years, but I have faith in you.”

 

“You know I’m going to kill you,” Bucky says sharply. “I’m gonna hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands –”

 

“You can start with that!” Garrett interrupts him brightly. “Threatening murder on an innocent.”

 

“You’re no innocent,” Bucky snarls.

 

“But the courts say different!” Garrett answers. “It was Rumlow who engineered those papers, I was just trying to give those poor kids a home! You have three days.”

 

Garrett stands up and the heel of his boot smashes in Steve’s phone. The call drops on Bucky’s. Bucky swears violently in Romanian and barely keeps himself from throwing the phone as hard as he can at the ground.

 

“Boss,” Clint calls.

 

Bucky jerks and gets into the taxi. Clint punches the gas and tears into traffic. Bucky dials Natasha, but it goes to voicemail. He hangs up and calls Sam.

 

 _“Hey –”_ Sam starts.

 

“Steve’s been kidnapped,” Bucky interrupts. “John Garrett, at least one other individual. Natasha was likely on scene, she’s either unconscious or dead.”

 

Clint doesn’t flinch at these words. Bucky, somewhere in his panic, is grateful that at least someone is holding their cool.

 

 _“Shit,”_ Sam answers.

 

“I need everybody possible looking for them,” Bucky continues, “they didn’t ask ransom for Natasha so they’ve probably left her behind.”

 

“Natasha had a meeting in Prospect Park this morning,” Clint says then. Bucky glances at him. “Johann Schmidt, she was going to kill him.”

 

“Natasha was going to meet Johann Schmidt in Prospect Park,” Bucky repeats. “Steve was only with her because I asked her to keep an eye on him while I was out of the country. Brasília United Exports was involved, they lured me out of the country.”

 

 _“I’ve got a BOLO out on Garrett,”_ Sam reports. _“Time?”_

 

“Ten minutes ago, max,” Bucky says. “Garrett wants ten mill and a full confession from me to FBI.”

 

 _“Then he doesn’t know –”_ Sam starts.

 

“He has intel on my personal life with Steve,” Bucky interrupts again before Sam can reveal that Bucky has been working _with_ the FBI for about five years to take down his own criminal empire in exchange for immunity. “My phone may be tapped.”

 

 _“Okay,”_ Sam says. _“HMU at the office, ASAP.”_

 

“I’m in Brazil!” Bucky snarls into his phone. “I can’t do anything ASAP!”

 

 _“Bigger shit,”_ Sam replies. _“I’ll find Natasha, what’s your ETA?”_

 

“Our plane’s prepping to leave now,” Bucky says. “If the pilot’s not a rat, too.”

 

 _“Keep me in the loop,”_ Sam says. Bucky doesn’t tell him that their pilot is Sam’s former wingman and best friend. If Riley is a traitor, Bucky would have to deal with it right away and he doesn't need Sam trying to convince him that Riley is straight.  _“How long do you have?”_

 

“Three days,” Bucky answers. “Then – I can only guess.”

 

 _“We’ll find them,”_ Sam promises. _“I’ll call in every favor I have and get the whole damn state looking for them. They’re not getting away with this.”_

 

“I’ll call you when I land in New York,” Bucky says tightly.

 

 _“Okay,”_ Sam says.

 

Bucky hangs up. He drops his phone onto the floor and grabs the hair at his temples, nearly ripping it out with the force of his fists.

 

“Get yourself together!” Clint snaps at him. “You’re no good to anybody if you’re a mess!”

 

“I promised!” Bucky hisses to his knees. “I promised he’d be safe!”

 

“They’re holding him for ransom, they’re not hurting him yet,” Clint says sharply. “They’ll tell you when they start hurting him, Barnes.”

 

“I promised!” Bucky hisses again.

 

Clint glances at Bucky, then reaches over and slaps him hard on the back of the head. Bucky rears back with a snarl and Clint grabs his tie.

 

“Get your shit together,” Clint says in a commanding tone.

 

“Alpha voices don’t work on other Alphas,” Bucky snaps back.

 

“Get,” Clint growls, “your. Shit. Together.”

 

Bucky wrenches himself out of Clint’s grip.

 

“Do you see me wrenching my hair out over Natasha right now?” Clint snaps. “You said it yourself, she’s probably dead. But I can’t help _anybody_ by loading up on premature guilt!”

 

“Steve is in the hands of the man who turned him into a child prostitute!” Bucky shouts.

 

Clint clenches his jaw.

 

“I _swore,_ ” Bucky continues. “I _swore_ to him he’d never lay eyes on that sonuvabitch again, Barton!”

 

“You’re no good to him in a panic,” Clint says.

 

“I’m no good to him in Brazil!” Bucky roars.

 

Clint exhales sharply. He glances at his mirrors, then makes an illegal turn and causes two cars in oncoming traffic to swerve into the opposite lane. Bucky falls back against his seat, gripping his own knees with white knuckles, as Clint drives like a madman to the airport. They don’t say another word to each other.

 

Clint cuts through the airport grounds onto the runway itself. He slams on the brakes outside the hanger with their private plane and Bucky gets out, drawing both revolvers from his waist and heading toward the plane. The stairs are pushed up to it and a couple of airport employees are standing around, but jump at the sight of him and promptly scatter. Bucky takes the steps two at a time and scans the cabin of the plan with a gun in each hand.

 

“Riley!” Bucky shouts.

 

Riley pops up from the cockpit and then immediately thrusts his hands into the air as Bucky trains his weapons on him. “Don’t shoot!” Riley calls.

 

Bucky clears the far corner as Clint runs up the stairs behind him. Belatedly, Bucky realizes they’d left their bags at Brasília United Exports.

 

Forgetting that thought, however, Bucky levels both of his weapons on the terrified figure of their pilot. Clint draws a gun and advances on Riley, too.

 

“You working for Garrett, too?” Bucky demands.

 

“No?” Riley says, cowering by the pilot’s chair. “Who the hell is Garrett?”

 

“Get up,” Clint snaps, holstering his gun.

 

Riley hesitantly stands and Clint hauls him forward, shoving him right into both barrels of Bucky’s revolvers.

 

“Who do you work for?” Bucky asks.

 

“You!” Riley answers, terrified.

 

“You swear on your life?” Bucky snarls, cocking both guns.

 

“I swear on Sam’s life!” Riley says. “I swear on both our lives!”

 

Bucky works his jaw. He uncocks the guns and holsters one. “Get the door,” he says to Clint, grabbing Riley’s shoulder. Clint goes to obey him and Bucky shoves Riley forward; the pilot stumbles but Bucky pushes him back to the cockpit and into the pilot’s seat.

 

“My Omega’s being held for ransom,” Bucky says, taking the co-pilot’s seat. “I’m a bit stressed. Get this bird off the ground.”

 

“Yes, sir!” Riley says hastily, tugging on his headset.

 

“You left this plane once since last night?” Bucky asks.

 

“No, sir!” Riley answers. The man’s falling back into military form, probably fright. Bucky’s holding a gun on him, after all. “Slept in the cockpit, like you said to, sir!”

 

“And you checked everything this morning?” Bucky demands. “The plane’s fit to fly?”

 

“Had it inspected by four other people, sir!” Riley answers. “Did all my checks three times!”

 

“Good,” Bucky says. Part of him hates to hold a gun on Riley, who once saved his life when he was a naive kid still in the Army, but he can’t risk Riley turning on him.

 

Clint makes his way over and Bucky gestures to Riley, then holsters his gun. Clint immediately draws his again and braces himself behind Riley’s chair, holding the gun up to his head.

 

“I’ll co-pilot today,” Bucky tells Riley, strapping in. “Forget clearing anything with air traffic control. I want to be in the States in less than ten hours.”

 

“Yes, sir!” Riley answers, flipping switches.

 

Bucky’s flown enough planes in his life he can count them on one hand. But in this crisis, he’s an expert co-pilot. Riley does most of the heavy lifting, Bucky’s just there to make sure if they have to kill him, he can quickly take over. He really hopes they don’t have to kill Riley, because that would mean he’d lied about the inspections and they’d risk falling to sabotage halfway over the Atlantic.

 

“Take a straight path,” Bucky orders Riley. “I don’t care whose airspace we violate, go straight to New York.”

 

_“Embraer Phenom 227, this is Air Traffic Control, you are not cleared for takeoff, over.”_

 

Riley’s hands twitch. Clint levels the gun.

 

“Keep going,” Bucky says.

 

_“Embraer Phenom 227, repeat, you are not cleared for takeoff. Cease your taxi and return to your hanger immediately. Over.”_

 

“Will they shoot us down?” Riley hisses towards him.

 

Bucky pulls out his phone. He sends a quick text, then puts away his phone.

 

 _“Embraer Phenom 227, you are clear for takeoff,”_ the radio chatters.

 

Bucky gives a nod. Riley looks sick.

 

“Keep your head on,” Bucky tells him.

 

“Would help if there wasn’t a gun behind it,” Riley mutters.

 

Clint drops onto the ground between the two chairs. “How’s this?” he asks, aiming the gun between Riley’s legs.

 

Riley tightens his jaw and says nothing.

 

“The boss’s Omega isn’t the only one in danger,” Clint says calmly. “Mine might be dead right now. You understand how both of us are itching to shoot something.”

 

“You don’t need to shoot me, guys,” Riley says sharply. “I ain’t working for nobody but you and Sam.”

 

“There’s a rat somewhere,” Bucky replies, “you’ll forgive me if I ain’t too trusting.”

 

“Have you considered the rat might be your Omega’s social media?” Riley snaps.

 

Clint glances at Bucky. Bucky keeps his eyes on the runway.

 

“Get us in the air,” he says.

 

Riley clenches his jaw. Clint lifts his gun again. Bucky takes out his phone again and opens Steve’s Instagram.

 

A quick search reveals that Steve has posted about their sex life plenty of times. Bucky knew this already, but it’s jolting to think that Steve’s own innocent records of their life might have been exploited to use against them. Steve hasn’t posted anything about Bucky being in Brazil or Natasha keeping him company in Bucky’s absence, so Brasília United Exports still had to have been part of Garrett’s plot to get to Steve. He sends Sam a text saying that Garrett might have been gathering information on him and Steve through social media, then puts his phone away.

 

He doesn’t turn it off. Since he’s connected to a satellite directly, he doesn’t lose signal.

 

“Passing through French Guiana’s airspace,” Riley reports an hour later.

 

“Nearing Puerto Rican airspace,” Riley says another three hours after.

 

“Touchdown in JFK, one hour,” Riley announces two hours after that.

 

“JFK Air Traffic Control, this is Embraer Phenom 227 requesting landing, over,” Riley says at last.

 

Bucky’s silent, waiting. He doesn’t want anyone to know they’re in the country already. It’s only been eight hours.

 

_“JFK Air Traffic Control, you’re not on our schedule, Embraer Phenom 227. Over.”_

 

“This is Embraer Phenom 227,” Riley answers, “we left JFK yesterday morning, check your books again. Over.”

 

Bucky pulls out his phone and sends a text.

 

_“Embraer Phenom 227, this is JFK Control, you are cleared for landing. Over.”_

 

Clint passes his gun into his left hand for the ninth time. His head hangs over his chest.

 

“Brace yourself, Barton,” Riley says.

 

Bucky kicks him awake. Clint sits up straight, looking around, then holsters his gun at last and grabs the armrests of both their chairs.

 

Riley lands the plane smoothly. The second he can, Bucky jumps up from the co-pilot seat and makes his way off the plane. Clint is on his heels, but they leave Riley behind to take care of the plane. Luke is waiting for them with a car and Bucky gets in the driver’s seat.

 

He calls Sam right away.

 

“I’m in New York,” he says before Sam can greet him.

 

 _“We’ve found Natasha,”_ Sam answers.

 

“And?” Bucky asks, his chest tightening.

 

 _“She’s alive,”_ Sam says and Bucky exhales.

 

“She’s alive,” he echoes.

 

“Natasha?” Clint demands.

 

“Alive,” Bucky repeats. Clint visibly sags in relief. “What happened?” Bucky continues.

 

 _“Schmidt never showed,”_ Sam reports. Bucky’s taking a fast route to the 79th Precinct in Brooklyn, cutting through Queens at a speed far above the limit. _“Nat gave him a ten-minute window. At five minutes, she warned Steve that they were going to leave, then she got hit by a tranquilizer.”_

 

“Tranq gun?” Bucky spits out.

 

 _“They didn’t want to kill her,”_ Sam says. _“She was out in seconds. Last thing she saw was Steve drawing his sidearm and yelling about rape.”_

 

“It would draw faster attention,” Bucky mutters. “Where the hell are they, Wilson?”

 

 _“We’re working on it,”_ Sam promises.

 

“Not good enough!” Bucky snarls. “I don’t want Steve in their hands another second!"

 

 _“I have all my men on this, Barnes!”_ Sam answers. _“There is only so much we can do!”_

 

“They didn’t just vanish off the face of the earth!” Bucky retorts, flipping off a patrol car switching on its sirens. “Get this pig off my back, license Alpha Tango Zero Four Foxtrot.”

 

 _“I’d appreciate some respect here,”_ Sam snaps, but after a few seconds, the patrol car’s sirens switch off and it falls back.

 

Bucky cuts through an alley, amid honking on the other side. He flips them off, too, and blitzes through a yellow light.

 

 _“We don’t know how far the conspiracy spreads,”_ Sam says. _“There’s evidence of collusion between Brasília United Exports and Schmidt; some of Hitler’s men who escaped Germany founded the company –”_

 

“Nazis!” Bucky spits out with venom. “Why’s it always _fucking_ Nazis!”

 

_“And Schmidt worked with Grant Ward to keep him out of prison, Ward’s aunt May Parker and his cousin Peter gave him alibis for a lot of Brass Fang’s activities –”_

 

“Shit!” Bucky spits out. “The Parker kid, send somebody to check on the Parker kid, he’s Steve’s half-brother –”

 

 _“We already done that,”_ Sam broke in. _“Both of them are missing.”_

 

“Shit!” Bucky shouts again, hitting the wheel hard. He illegally passes a slower car and runs a red light to turn left, narrowly escaping a collision. “When did they go missing?”

 

 _“The kid didn’t show up for school the past two days,”_ Sam reports. _“His aunt called in sick to work Monday and didn’t show today, either.”_

 

“They gotta be in the same place,” Bucky says, “the kid’s got a – a – an implant of some kind, a StarkTech hormone replacer, call Stark and get him to track it –”

 

 _“We’ve got the implant,”_ Sam says.

 

Bucky’s blood runs cold yet again. “Where?”

 

_“It was left in Parker’s house. Not a lot of blood, so by any luck, the kid’s alive and they took it out properly.”_

 

“Then they got a doctor on hand,” Bucky says.

 

 _“Schmidt or his buddy Zola,”_ Sam answers. _“Barnes, this thing runs its roots deep. They’ve been planning this for months.”_

 

Bucky swears aloud in Romanian. “They’ve been planning this since I took out Brass Fang,” he hisses. “This is all my fault.”

 

 _“We ain’t got time to play the blame game,”_ Sam answers calmly. _“The last anybody saw of the Parkers, there was a gray van with painted over windows leaving their townhouse. We found the van in an abandoned lot, it was registered to John Garrett.”_

 

“All of Brass Fang’s vehicles were in his name,” Bucky says. “I thought you impounded all of them!”

 

 _“We impounded all the ones we could find!”_ Sam snaps.

 

Bucky slams on the brakes outside the precinct. “I’m here,” he says.

 

He barely puts the car in park before getting out, leaving it running. Clint runs after him, but Luke takes the time to move the car and actually park, for which Bucky isn’t sure if he’s grateful or pissed. Luke runs after them, though, catching up as Bucky slams open the doors to the bullpen.

 

“Over here!” Sam calls. Several uniform cops rush out of his way as Bucky storms through the bullpen to Sam’s office. Natasha is sitting on Sam’s desk, an icepack held to her head and a sickly yellow pallor to her skin.

 

Bucky walks up to his sister and she slips off the bench.

 

“I never should have taken him into the field –” she starts. Bucky grabs her in a fierce hug.

 

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” he says gruffly before letting go. Clint rushes in to embrace his Omega and Bucky turns back to Sam.

 

“Tell me you got a lead,” he begs.

 

Sam looks at him sorrily.

 

Bucky slams a fist into a table, scattering markers all over the map in place there. “It has been nine hours!” he roars.

 

“I have men searching every corner of New York!” Sam yells back. “I called every precinct in the whole damn city and emptied them on their asses to find these guys! I’ve staked my career, Barnes, the whole damn state knows I’m on your side now!”

 

“The whole damn state already _is_ on my side!” Bucky shouts.

 

“Cut the dick talking!” Natasha yells.

 

Bucky rounds on her. Natasha raises an open hand and slaps him across the face. Bucky reels, stepping back, touches his cheek and then looks at his hand in surprise.

 

“Get your head on straight!” Natasha snarls at him. “What do kidnappers always do when you don’t obey their demands right away?”

 

Bucky blinks at her, stunned.

 

“They call back!” Natasha spits. “They are _trying_ to knock you off balance, that’s why they took him and left me alive, there is more to this than money and your throne!”

 

“Garrett is a diagnosed narcissist and sociopath, he nearly avoided prison entirely on a plea of mental instability from Antisocial Personality Disorder,” Sam speaks up. “This might not be about you at all, Barnes.”

 

Bucky looks between them, at Natasha’s hard face and Sam’s frank eyes, and then at his hand again.

 

“It’s Steve,” he mutters.

 

“Snitches get stitches,” Sam recites.

 

“What are they going to do to him?” Natasha demands. “What does Garrett know that he can use to torture Steve?”

 

Bucky looks at everything and nothing at once. “The dark,” he mutters.

 

“That’s a start,” Sam says.

 

“He’s terrified of the dark,” Bucky says. “He – He gets flashbacks, olfactory hallucinations, he’ll smell the closet –”

 

Bucky grabs his hair. “Shit,” he whispers. “Father-son bonding time. That’s what Garrett said when I asked what’d he’d done with Steve, that they were going to have father-son bonding time. Garrett was never his father.”

 

“They’re gonna keep him someplace dark,” Natasha says. “What else?”

 

“Steve’s last foster father, what was his name?” Bucky demands. He’d never asked that of Steve, though he’d wanted to track the man down and see him killed. He’d been waiting for Steve to tell him. “The house he was in right before Garret adopted him, what was that guy’s name, his address, everything?”

 

Natasha glances around. “Uh,” she says, looking at her feet and snapping her fingers. “Colonel – Colonel Fischer, a house out in Jersey City, but he doesn’t live there anymore –”

 

“They’ll take him there,” Bucky insists, “it doesn’t have to be the same man, it’d have to be the closet!”

 

“What closet?” Sam demands.

 

“Fischer put his boys in closets when they’d done wrong,” Bucky says, but he’s already pushing past Sam. “He’d go in with them and molest them.”

 

“Colonel Fischer!” Sam bursts out, following him. “Of the United States Air Force, Colonel Fischer?”

 

“Yeah, that’s him,” Natasha answers.

 

“I want our best guys ready to storm that house,” Bucky says over his shoulder to Natasha.

 

“Barnes!” Clint yells.

 

“What?” Bucky snarls, turning around.

 

Clint holds up his phone. Bucky’s phone. An unknown number is FaceTiming him.

 

Bucky runs back and snatches his phone from Clint. He ducks into Sam’s office, his people following him, and slams the door before he answers.

 

“Hey, Barnes!” a man Bucky doesn’t recognize greets him. “Check this out!”

 

Bucky stuffs a fist in his mouth as the camera flips and loads.

 

“Dragă,” he mutters when it loads.

 

Steve is hanging by the ropes on his wrists on what looks like a meat hook. He’s blindfolded.

 

“A little bird told me the bitch was afraid of the dark,” the man behind the camera says. It flips and loads again, and the man appears standing next to Steve’s hanging body. “This is your proof of life, and all.”

 

The man reaches out and slaps Steve across the face. Bucky lurches, but there’s nothing he can do as Steve gasps and tries to gain his vision. Bucky knows he’s searching for light by the way his head jerks from side to side.

 

“Those aren’t the clothes he was wearing this morning,” Natasha says in Bucky’s ear. Bucky jolts, not realizing she’d been standing at his shoulder, then looks back at the phone.

 

“We found some cool shit on him,” the man says.

 

“That’s Grant Ward,” Natasha whispers.

 

“Look at this ring!” Ward says, holding up Steve’s Seyrbakov signet ring to the phone. “If you were proposing, Barnes, he put it on the wrong finger. And this choker, you a possessive bastard, or what, you gotta make your Omega walk around wearing your initials all the time?”

 

“Ward!” Steve yells abruptly.

 

Ward stands up straighter, looking over his shoulder at Steve’s hanging body.

 

“Ward, I swear to God,” Steve says, his voice weak even over the phone, “if you don’t let me down from here right now I’m gonna claw your _fucking_ eyes out and make you eat them and when you shit ‘em back out, I’ll stuff ‘em back in their sockets!”

 

“That’s exactly why I’m not letting you down,” Ward snaps. He moves closer, then grabs Steve’s face. “You see this?” Ward says to the phone, yanking Steve’s mouth open.

 

“ _Fute,_ ” Bucky mutters in Romanian. Steve’s teeth are bloody. There’s blood all over his mouth, between every tooth, covering his chin –

 

“He bit off my buddy’s finger,” Ward says, shaking Steve. Bucky sags in relief, knowing the blood isn’t Steve’s. “He fucking bit off my man’s finger, full on Gollum’d him! You let this piece of shit suck your dick, Barnes?”

 

“Bucky?” Steve mutters. “Bucky!”

 

“I’m here, baby!” Bucky calls. “I’m gonna come get you, don’t worry!”

 

“This is some Brooklyn level shit,” Steve says, spitting out blood – blood that isn’t his – to say it. “Forget Jersey, this is straight Brooklyn!”

 

Ward gives Steve a hard shove and he yells in pain as he swings on the hook. Bucky flinches.

 

“In honor of my man’s lost finger,” Ward says angrily, “you have twenty-four hours to pay fifteen million and turn yourself in to the FBI.”

 

“I want to talk to Garrett,” Bucky says.

 

“I’m here,” Garrett’s voice says distantly.

 

Ward walks away from Steve, passing the phone off. Garrett’s face fills the screen.

 

“You know, we found the bruises,” Garrett says to him calmly. “What’d you hit him with? It’s a whole latticework on his back.”

 

Sam jerks standing next to him. Bucky reaches out and grabs his shoulder, squeezing hard.

 

“You took his clothes off?” Bucky accuses.

 

“Oh, yeah, we had to make sure there weren’t any trackers on him,” Garrett answers. “Like his sister, what’s her name?”

 

“Elizabeth,” Ward says off camera.

 

“Who the fuck is Elizabeth?” Sam mutters.

 

“His name is Peter,” Bucky says angrily. “I want to see him, too.”

 

“What, you got a harem, Barnes?” Garrett accuses. “Hell, you say I exploited kids, how old is poor Elizabeth?”

 

“Eighteen last December,” Ward says.

 

“You pick ‘em up once they’re legal?” Garrett asks Bucky. “Or did you pick Elizabeth out before she turned eighteen? I know you like Steve ‘cause he looks sixteen, but Elizabeth really is a kid –”

 

“His name is Peter!” Bucky snarls. “Where is he? Where’s his aunt?”

 

“Oh, you got the aunt, too?” Garrett asks, then laughs. “Jesus Christ, Barnes, you say _I’m_ bad!”

 

“Show me!” Bucky demands, ignoring his jabs.

 

“They’re right here,” Garrett says, and the camera flips. Bucky has a split second view of two slumped bodies, bound and gagged, before it flips back. “Anyway, fifteen million in the next twenty-four hours or we start leaving bodies. I think we’ll start with Elizabeth, ladies first, y’know? Lord knows Steve ain’t a lady, no matter how hard anybody tried to teach him.”

 

“This is your last opportunity to earn yourself a quick death,” Bucky says quietly.

 

Garrett raises his eyebrows. “It is?” he says as though shocked. “Well, damn, I’d better turn myself in, then.”

 

“Give them back to me now or I swear, you’re gonna be wishing I’d just kill you already this time next year,” Bucky growls commandingly.

 

“Did you just try an Alpha tone on me?” Garrett asks. “Hey, hey, Stevie, your boyfriend’s fine with manipulating people’s wills to get what he wants! Isn’t that just what you hate?”

 

Garrett throws an arm around Steve’s waist, shaking him. Steve fights, his body swinging on the hook, but there’s a rag stuffed in his mouth and his movements are getting weaker.

 

“Oh, that would be the chloroform,” Garrett says, pulling the rag from Steve’s mouth. Steve is barely fighting anymore. “Any last words to say to your most recent abuser before he inevitably refuses to pay the ransom?”

 

Steve mumbles words. Garrett leans in close. Then he laughs.

 

“He says you can choke on your own dick,” Garrett says.

 

“He told _you_ to choke on your own dick,” Bucky snaps.

 

“I’m pretty sure he meant you,” Garrett answers with a teasing smile. “See ya, Barnes!”

 

The call ends. Bucky grips the phone tighter and shoves it into his pocket instead of throwing it like he wants to. Sam catches his arm.

 

“What was that about bruises?” he demands.

 

“They’re from scenes,” Natasha snaps. “BDSM, Wilson!”

 

Sam doesn’t look at her. Bucky is staring at the floor; he isn’t paying attention to Wilson or Natasha, he’s thinking about what he’s just seen.

 

“Oh, for the love of –” Natasha hisses, then grabs Clint and yanks him forward, spinning him around and lifting the back of his shirt. “There!” she says, pointing to the faded welts on Clint’s back. “That’s from a flogging. It sounds like Barnes caned Steve recently, and I’m sure he enjoyed it!”

 

“Barnes?” Sam demands.

 

“They’re moving,” Bucky mutters.

 

“What?” Sam says.

 

“Steve was constantly swaying,” Bucky says, grabbing his shoulder. “They’re in a vehicle, actively moving.”

 

“What was that about Brooklyn level shit?” Natasha asks.

 

“He’s fucking terrified,” Bucky says weakly. “It’s his full-stop word. He’s terrified.”

 

Sam exhales sharply, then exits the office. Bucky hears him updating the precinct on the situation just as the door shuts.

 

“Then they’re not at Steve’s old group home,” Natasha says.

 

“Where the fuck are they then?” Bucky growls, grabbing his hair again.

 

“Hey!” Natasha snaps, snatching his wrist and kicking his knee out from under him at the same time. “You do _not_ do what he did!”

 

Bucky yanks himself out of her grip, righting himself but staggering; his knee’s got arthritis, she knows that. “Now is not the time!” he hisses.

 

“Oh, yes, it is,” Natasha answers, grabbing his hands and clamping down on them. “How many times did you rip your hair out today? How many times do I tell you _not_ to let Aleksei continue abusing you from fucking Moscow!”

 

Bucky throws her off. She stumbles back and hits the table, causing more markers to clatter out of place. Clint stands there, looking between the two of them with wide eyes.

 

“Now is not the time,” Bucky says firmly.

 

“He was doing it all day,” Clint blurts.

 

Natasha stands to her full height. Bucky does, too, using the eight inches he’s got on her to his advantage.

 

“Now is not the time!” he snarls. “Steve is in the hands of the people that actually abused him and they’re using his history of trauma to torture him and it’s my fault!”

 

“Steve made his choice when he told you Fang wanted you dead!” Natasha snarls right back. “He made his choice when he didn’t kill you! None of this is your fault!”

 

“Are you saying it’s Steve’s fault?” Bucky asks her quietly.

 

“That is not –” Natasha starts.

 

“Are you saying it’s _Steve’s_ fault?” Bucky roars.

 

Clint grabs him by the arm and hauls him back. “That’s your sister, Barnes, watch the temper!”

 

Bucky throws him off. “Neither of you are being helpful,” he snaps. He storms out of the office, slamming the door. They just follow him.

 

“Can you track the phone call?” Bucky asks Sam.

 

“We tried,” Sam answers. “It was bounced through a hundred different Wi-Fi networks across the state.”

 

“Would any of Brass Fang’s people be able to do that?” Bucky asks Natasha.

 

“Parker would,” Natasha says.

 

“Look for clues in the networks,” Bucky orders Sam, “patterns, codes, the names, anything.”

 

“Let me have your phone,” Sam says. Bucky hands it over immediately and Sam grabs a desk at random, plugging his phone into the computer and signing into the network. “The video call should be stored somewhere on here,” he says, “I can run analysis on it and try to find out where it was filmed.”

 

“A dark ass van with a meat-hook,” Bucky growls.

 

“Green!” Sam yells abruptly. “Put out an APB on any truck large enough to carry at least five people and have one of them hung by his wrists on a hook in the roof!”

 

“On it!” a plainclothes detective answers.

 

Bucky snags a chair and drops down next to Sam. “We should call Stark to look at this,” he mutters.

 

“Call him to work out the IP address,” Sam says.

 

Bucky snaps his fingers at Natasha.

 

“On it,” she says.

 

“Got it,” Sam says, and a video opens.

 

Bucky grimaces, looking away from Ward’s delighted face. These people are sick.

 

“I can scan for background noise,” Sam says, muting the video just as Ward begins to greet them. “Green, there are no light sources inside the truck, it looks like a semi-trailer!”

 

“Got it!” the detective answers.

 

Bucky gets up, starting to pace. Where would Garrett be taking Steve in a truck? Why a semi truck? What was with the meat hook? The Parkers; Garrett likely took them to tie up loose ends, especially if Peter did something to their phones to mess up triangulation. Garrett was likely misgendering and deadnaming Peter on purpose to make someone feel like shit, if not Peter himself. And Steve was blindfolded because it rendered him consumed by claustrophobia, Bucky had sat in on a few sessions with Steve’s shrink just so Steve could get the story out in full without having to say it to his face, it was easier for Steve that way.

 

The closet had been an old pantry, no longer used. The dust was a combination of old peanut casings and time and the mildew came from the bathroom on the floor above. It had been in the basement of the house so there hadn’t been any light at all from any source. His foster father would leave the kids in there for hours, sometimes overnight, sometimes he wouldn’t join them but usually did and always made it out like it was the kid’s fault that all of that was happening to them. Steve was in that closet at least three or four times per week in the six months he lived in Fischer’s group home. Fischer took particular offense to Steve’s attitude because Steve was an Omega and Omegas, according to the bastard, had forgotten their place in the world.

 

“They’re on a highway,” Sam says behind him. “Green, they’re on a highway, the truck container is fifteen feet long by six feet wide, completely sealed, on a highway of some kind!”

 

“They’re moving him out of state,” Bucky says, moving back over and grabbing Sam’s shoulders. “Wilson, call the FBI,” he says quietly. “If they’re crossing state lines, it’s a federal case.”

 

“Are you out of your mind?” Natasha hisses.

 

“Yes,” Bucky snaps back. “Or that’s what we’ll say when we’re asked. It’s Wilson’s idea.”

 

“How do you know they’re taking him across state lines?” Sam demands.

 

“Common sense!” Bucky answers sharply. “Can you find out direction they’re going? North, south, what?”

 

Sam sighs heavily, turning back to the computer. “There’s only so much I can do with this software.”

 

“Send it to the FBI,” Bucky says immediately. “Your friend Hill –”

 

“Is already here.”

 

Bucky snaps upright as Agent Hill and several FBI jacketed agents follow behind her.

 

“Why are you already here?” Natasha demands, reaching for her hip. Bucky grabs her wrist, stopping her.

 

“Garrett put his ransom demand on the Internet,” Hill says. “He’s very confident that you _won’t_ pay, Barnes.”

 

Bucky covers his face with his hands. “It’s not about the money,” he mutters under them. “It was never about money. It’s Steve, he’s preying on Steve.”

 

“What makes you so sure?” Sam asks.

 

Bucky waves a hand to the computer. “The goodbye, asking Steve for last words to me. He’s just torturing Steve.”

 

“It is really out of character for a kidnapper to publicly announce that they don’t expect the ransom to be paid,” Hill notes.

 

“Where does Fischer live now?” Bucky demands of Natasha.

 

“Hawaii,” Natasha says.

 

“I don’t think they’re going to Hawaii,” Sam says, looking between them.

 

“There isn’t a highway between here and Fischer’s old house,” Natasha adds. “Steve’s father lives in California, that’s way too far to go in twenty-four hours –”

 

“His mother,” Bucky interrupts her.

 

“She lived in Boston,” Natasha says. “Boston!” she gasps.

 

“Where?” Bucky says, snapping his fingers. “I want men on the ground now –”

 

“This is officially an FBI case if they’re heading to Boston!” Hill cuts in, pressing in between him and Natasha.

 

Bucky grabs her by the wrist. “If you try to tell me that I can’t go after the men that took my Omega,” he starts quietly.

 

Hill’s face hardens and she tries to pull out of his grip; Bucky doesn’t let her budge an inch. He tugs her closer by the wrist and gets in her face, continuing in a snarl.

 

“I don’t care who you work for,” he says, “I don’t care who gets in my way. I will cut down _anyone_ who tries to stop me.”

 

Bucky shakes her and Hill finally rips away from him. “Clear?” he barks.

 

“Are you threatening a federal agent?” Hill asks coldly.

 

Bucky pushes past her. “Thanks for all the help, assholes,” he calls as he leaves, Natasha and Clint and Luke falling in behind him. “I’ll take it from here.”

 

“Stark’s cracked Parker’s code,” Natasha says as they leave the precinct. “It just says _mom._ ”

 

“Boston,” Bucky growls. Garret had had Steve for nine, nearly ten hours already. Boston was almost five hours away. “We’re fuckin’ goin’ to Boston.”

 

Steve would be in Garret’s hands for at least fourteen hours. Bucky blamed himself for all fourteen of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _!!!!!!!!!!!!! i wrote this and i'm shook! am i playing the hype too much? i hope i'm not playing the hype too much also remember that i'm not posting chapter 25 ( **exit the harlot and the landlord** i have a theme y'know) until the day after tomorrow okay byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_
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> _this has been[moonythejedi394](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) and [chaosdraws](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/), we'll see you in the next one._


	25. exit the harlot and the landlord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter** : abusive language, graphic descriptions of torture, rats and cockroaches.
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> _anyway, here's wonderwall._

##  _exit the harlot and the landlord_

 

His arms hurt like _shit._ He keeps swinging from where he’s hanging and his shoulders feel like they’re about to dislocate. The space around him is so musty he keeps choking on the air, but it might the chloroform in his system. Dr. Madini told him that the dust and mildew he smells in the dark aren’t really there, they’re vivid flashbacks. His mouth tastes like blood. That’s not a hallucination.

 

Steve knows that he’s going to die. Garrett and Ward and the eight or ten other men they have with them have as good as promised him that. He’s going to die, but if he stops fighting, they might let Peter and May live.

 

“You’re gonna pay for Jay’s finger,” Ward keeps hissing in his ear.

 

Steve has realized by then that the breathing on the back of his neck is not a hallucination, either, because Ward is always standing just behind him, just to breathe on him.

 

“I’m gonna cut off every one of your fingers and toes, bitch,” Ward promises him.

 

Steve sways in the motion of whatever is rattling the space he’s hung in. His head pounds from the repeated dosing of chloroform and he’s limp. His fingers are numb. Bucky told him a long time ago to speak up if his fingers ever even got tingly, but he doubts that Garrett and Ward will let him down to get the blood back in his fingers.

 

“You did this to yourself,” Ward says to him. “If you just hadn’t bit the hand that feeds you, Stevie.”

 

Steve once told Garrett everything his foster father did to him. He’d been drunk and Garrett had kept giving him booze until he’d spilled the whole story. Steve had trusted him once. Now Ward is quoting Steve’s foster father and Steve is blindfolded in a lightless space, with two other lives dependent on him no longer fighting.

 

“You’re a lot sweeter when you shut your mouth,” Ward whispers to him. “It’s a shame we have to do this to you to get you to learn.”

 

Steve knows he’s going to die. He just wishes Garrett would get on with it already.

 

There’s an abrupt jolt in the space and Steve swings violently back and forth, hitting Ward once before he moves out of the way. Steve’s face and throat are so numb from the chloroform, he can’t even scream when his shoulders finally pop.

 

“Home sweet home,” Garrett announces. “Get him down.”

 

Hands grab him. Steve can’t feel them exactly, but they’re only lifting him off the hook. Steve manages a weak whimper when his shoulders snap again and he can only hope they weren’t truly dislocated.

 

“Grab the girls,” Garrett says, speaking of Peter and May. “We’ll toss them out of the way until we’re done with him.”

 

Steve is dragged away from the hook they’d hung him on by his arms. His feet dangle uselessly under him. The people dragging him abruptly swing him forward, his body lifts from the ground, and the hands leave his arms.

 

Steve still can’t scream. For one moment, for one terrible moment, he is weightless. The moment drags on as gravity seems to forget him, but innate terror grips Steve’s chest; he hasn’t forgotten gravity.

 

Then he hits another body and is dropped onto the ground.

 

“You could’ve dropped him yourself,” a man complains.

 

“Nah,” another man says, “more fun to throw him.”

 

“Don’t break him yet,” Garrett’s voice called. “Inside.”

 

Hands grab his wrists and his feet. He’s lifted off the ground partially, but his ass dragged along the ground, which is covered in gravel. Rocks get into his clothes and scrape his skin; a particularly sharp one sends a piercing pain somewhere along his back, he’s too sluggish to be able to tell.

 

“Aw, fuck, he’s getting blood everywhere,” someone complains.

 

“Just don’t get it on your skin,” another person warns, “he’s probably got a thousand STDs.”

 

“Probably got AIDs,” the first person grumbles.

 

Steve doesn’t have AIDs, his last round of tests after leaving Brass Fang nearly seven months ago just came back and he has a clean bill of health. He and Bucky were talking about no longer using condoms.

 

Thinking of Bucky abruptly brings to the forefront of his mind all the lies Steve’s told him lately. That he would be fine while Bucky was in Brazil. That he could take care of himself. That there was nothing for Bucky to worry about. And the worst yet, the lie by omission – Steve hasn’t told Bucky he loves him. He’s been in love probably since November, since that awful morning he’d woken up in subdrop and Bucky had rushed to leave everything just to comfort him. He’s been lying to himself that it was too soon, that he couldn’t spring something like that on Bucky, for almost seven months and now he won’t ever tell Bucky.

 

The last time he’d spoken to Bucky, he’d held back the truth. Steve thinks he’s crying, but he can’t feel his face.

 

He’s tossed bodily onto hardwood floors. He rolls and hits a wall, then the blindfold is ripped off his eyes and he’s faced with a floral pink wallpaper.

 

“Home sweet home!” Garrett calls behind him while Steve struggles vainly to get away from his mother’s wallpaper. “Isn’t it fitting that in the same place your mother died because of your selfishness, you’ll die because of the same?”

 

Steve’s tongue is numb, his jaw is numb, everything is numb except his shoulders, which scream in pain. Garrett grabs his hair and hauls him off the ground, putting him on his knees to face the room.

 

“Look at this,” Garrett says, “nobody’s touched this place in _years!_ You own all this and you never once came back to take care of your mother’s things! What kind of son does that?”

 

Steve’s eyes are definitely watering now if they weren’t before. His scalp is on fire from Garrett holding him up, but the pain isn’t what makes his eyes fill.

 

“Look,” Garrett insists, throwing him onto the floor in the center of the room; he hits the ground with a heavy thump and a dull ache radiates through his entire body. “This place is a mess,” Garret says. “Her photos are all over the place, her clothes are still hanging up, her bed isn’t even made! Do you realize how hurt she would be if she knew you’d just left all this to the moths?”

 

Steve can’t answer him, but he’s sure Garrett did that on purpose. Garrett kneels next to him and looks down at him with such pity.

 

“Oh, Steve,” he sighs. “You really are still a child deep inside, aren’t you? You couldn’t handle how your life had driven your mother’s health into the ground, so you did nothing at all.”

 

Steve does his best to shake his head. That’s not true, he thinks. It hadn’t been his fault his mother died, cancer got everybody regardless of how much life and energy they spent on their ill children. It's not his fault that he never managed to grow up and couldn't handle coming back to the place where he'd watched his mother deteriorate. It's not his fault he finds solace in rejecting the kind of maturity he'd been forced into after his mother got sick, it's not his fault she died, it's not his fault he can't grow up, it's not his fault he killed his mother –

 

“Your mother made so many sacrifices for you,” Garrett tuts, “and this is how you repay her?”

 

He gestures to the room at large. Steve tries his damnedest to shake his head, his vision blurring at the edges from the tears in his eyes.

 

“You know, I think you need some time to think about this,” Garrett announces. He grabs Steve’s hair again and starts dragging him from the room.

 

Steve can’t even claw feebly at Garrett’s knuckles in his hair, he can barely even whimper. Garrett drags him out of his mother’s bedroom and through the sitting room, through into the kitchen, then yanks open the door to the basement.

 

Steve tries to fight. Garrett drags him down the stairs and drops him onto the damp concrete floor.

 

“You just need some time by yourself,” Garrett says firmly, pulling the blindfold from his pocket.

 

Steve tries to whimper more, but it’s fruitless. Garrett pulls the tight black cloth over his head and bunches it up over his eyes.

 

“You’ll have the rats and the roaches to keep you company,” Garrett promises him. “And maybe later I’ll send Ward down here to remind you of what you’ve done.”

 

Steve quakes as the cold from the damp concrete seeps into his already numb body. There isn’t a shred of light in the room. The basement is small, barely a cellar. He hears Garrett’s footsteps thudding on the stairs, then the door slamming shut.

 

Steve tries to scream. It comes out as a hoarse breath.

 

The basement reeks of mold. Steve hated this cellar even while he was living above it, before his foster father and before Garrett regularly blindfolding him to let him think about where he’d gone wrong, and Garrett had already reminded him of why. Steve can hear the distant squeak of rats and imagines they’re already nearing to see what fresh meat had landed in their abandoned, moist hell for the first time in almost eight years.

 

Something crawls over his ankle, something too light with too many legs and too long antennae. Steve tries again to scream, tries to lift himself up off the damp ground, but his body shakes and collapses. Something twice as wet and warm bursts under his knee and he sobs silently. He should have known Garrett would do something like this, he should have known that Garrett wouldn’t have let his betrayal go unpunished. Garrett had once locked him in the cellar of his house for three days because Steve had tried to keep more than his share of his earnings. It had only been twenty dollars and he’d kept it by accident, but Garrett had refused to believe him. He should have known Garrett wouldn’t let his turning on the hand that fed him go unnoticed.

 

The darkness presses in on him. Steve can’t breathe for how thickly the air smells of mold and age. The rats get brave like the roaches and he can hear their claws while he can only feel it when a cockroach crawls over his body. The clothes his kidnappers had dressed him in are paper thin, probably picked out by Garrett just for this purpose. The chloroform weighs heavily on his system, and Steve realizes that this _is_ how he is going to die. He’s going to die here.

 

The chloroform in his system is slowly going to paralyze his lungs and stop his heart and he’ll die in his dead mother’s damp cellar, with rats and roaches already curiously sniffing his body to see if he would make a good meal.

 

Steve manages to cry out when a rat bites his finger. It runs away squeaking, but just as quickly, another one climbs his hips and starts licking the blood on his back from the gravel. He tries again to make noise, but it’s a feeble sound and doesn’t deter the rat any. Another one joins it, then another, then they get brave again and try biting him. He swears one draws blood. At least the rats are keeping away the roaches. The roaches won’t get to crawl over him again until the rats are done.

 

The rats start shrieking abruptly and someone hauls Steve off the damp floor. He sobs weakly again and tries to fight, tries to go dead weight and let the rats keep eating him alive, but whoever it is pins his hands and pulls him farther away from the floor. Steve tries to dig his nails into their hands, but his strength is gone.

 

The blindfold is ripped off of him. Steve winces against the sudden light, then a hand is cupping his cheek tenderly.

 

“Have you learned your lesson?” Garrett asks him kindly.

 

“Just kill me,” Steve whispers hoarsely.

 

Garrett sighs. “I guess you haven’t,” he says, then jams the blindfold back on him.

 

Steve hits the concrete floor hard. He feels something somewhere crack. Maybe it was his skull. He hopes to God it’s his skull. The roaches come back. One crawls over his face and he can’t even shake it off, the chloroform has sapped all his strength. His lungs are struggling to inflate, now. The rats return and resume biting at his fingers and toes, and Steve guesses they’ll have gnawed them off before Ward can come and cut them off one at a time.

 

He knows two things for sure. He is going to die here in his mother’s basement without having ever told Bucky the full truth, but he will not let Garrett win. Steve will die from the chloroform stopping his lungs and heart, he will slowly suffocate with a room full of mildew-laden air to fill his failing lungs, but he will die without giving Garrett any satisfaction.

 

He does not regret giving Bucky the gun Brass Fang had intended to end him with. He does not regret telling Bucky that Garret coerced him into selling his body before he turned eighteen. He does not regret a damn thing. He had seven months of more joy with Bucky than he’d had in his entire life before that. Bucky is the best thing to ever happen to him and Steve will not regret it.

 

Steve will suffocate and be eaten by the rats already nibbling at his limbs before he gives Garrett what he wants.

 

This time, Steve hears the footsteps on the stairs. He can barely breathe now. The footsteps come at a run, the rats shriek and scatter, and Garrett grabs him with more haste than before; he’s scooped up rather than lifted by the hair, arms curling under his legs and back.

 

“You are not allowed to die!” he hears. “You’re not allowed to die here, Steve!”

 

Steve, despite his lungs barely inflating, forces out a laugh. He’s done it. He’s won. Garrett carries him up the stairs and he’s dropped onto something relatively soft.

 

“I need you to give us some room, sir,” he hears distantly.

 

“The blindfold – Get the blindfold off him –”

 

“Sir, can you hear me?”

 

“Where the fuck is he? No, fuck that, where is he!”

 

“His pupils aren’t responding. He’s not breathing.”

 

Steve’s won.

 

“Steve! Steve, sweetheart, you gotta hold on, you can’t die on me, baby you can’t die, just hold on –”

 

“Sir, I have to perform CPR, back up, now!”

 

“Stevie, you can’t leave me! C’mon, I can’t lose you!”

 

“They were feeding him chloroform the whole time they had him –”

 

“He needs a hospital –”

 

“Steve, dragă, please –”

 

He won.

 

“– his heart is failing –”

 

“– leg is badly infected, we may have to amputate –”

 

“– replace the aortic and pulmonary valves –”

 

“– can keep him on life support –”

 

“– we don’t know how long he’ll be asleep –”

 

“– you can’t stay here all the time, Barnes –”

 

“– there isn’t a lot of knowledge on chloroform overdoses like this –”

 

“– the infections have been eradicated, at least –”

 

“– there’s a possibility that he won’t wake –”

 

“–  he isn’t fighting anymore –”

 

“– consider letting him pass…”

 

“He’s not going to wake up, Bucky…”

 

Steve has won.

 

There is a slight squeaking somewhere. His mouth is open but isn’t dry. His jaw feels comfortably sore and there’s pressure on his tongue going down his throat. It’s hard and unyielding, so the first thing he registers is that it’s not Bucky’s dick and that makes him sad.

 

Steve opens his eyes and blinks at a white tiled ceiling. A fan hangs in the room and is the source of the squeaking. He blinks slowly, trying to figure out where he is, when a voice speaks.

 

“On your left.”

 

Steve tips his head to the left. The police captain, Sam Wilson, smiles kindly at him from a chair at his bedside. Steve sees an IV stand and complicated machines that blur in the edges of his vision. He nods to Sam, then shuts his eyes again.

 

“– I can’t explain it –”

 

“– he looked right at me, Barnes –”

 

“– it might simply be a miracle –”

 

“– he doesn’t need the ventilator anymore but we’ll keep him on oxygen –”

 

“– brain activity is picking up –”

 

“You were right. He’s a fighter.”

 

The unyielding pressure down his throat is gone when he next blinks his eyes open. Steve can feel a tube wrapped around his face, the IV in his arm, hear the machines beeping as he shakily inhales and exhales on his own power. He tips his head to the left and Captain Wilson is gone. He looks to the right instead and there’s a man sitting at his bedside staring at the ground.

 

The man sits slumped in his chair with his hands clasped under his chin, his elbows leaning on his knees. Steve blinks at him. His suit is wrinkled and there are lines in his forehead. His hair is neatly trimmed short and his face is fully bearded now. The silver streaks at his temple have gotten wider. Steve blinks at him.

 

“Buck?” he mumbles hoarsely.

 

Bucky jerks upright; he stares at Steve, his mouth hanging open.

 

“Di’ you grow a sadness beard?” Steve asks faintly.

 

Bucky surges out of his chair and kisses him. Steve smiles under Bucky’s lips, but the beard tickles him and he ends up giggling. Bucky pulls back but only an inch, rubbing the tips of their noses together in a distinctly tender gesture. Steve reaches up and touches his beard, his hands limp.

 

“I thought you weren’t gonna wake up,” Bucky says. His voice cracks and his hands frame Steve’s face. Bucky kisses him again, on the forehead this time, and Steve lifts a hand to touch Bucky’s significantly shorter hair, too. The beard and the short hair are so strange to see.

 

“Wha’ did ya do to y’r hair?” he asks. “‘S short.”

 

“I grew a sadness beard and Natasha said I looked like a hobo,” Bucky confesses with a tearful smile. “She made me get a haircut.”

 

“I don’ like it,” Steve decides. “Beard tickles.”

 

Bucky laughs and kisses him again. Steve giggles as Bucky’s beard tickles his nose but he weakly curls a fist in Bucky’s shirt, trying to hold him in place. His hands feel very heavy and his fingers are clumsy, like Steve’s been sleeping for too long and his body’s still catching up with the idea of being awake.

 

“I thought you were gone, dragă,” Bucky says, pressing their lips together again and again. “I thought I’d lost you.”

 

“I won,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Yeah, you won, baby,” Bucky promises in a thick voice. “Garrett is dead, so are the guys that took you. I had ‘em lined up and shot – It was too good for them –”

 

“He was tryna teach me a lesson,” Steve says.

 

Steve stops there, feeling tired. Bucky’s looking at him like he’s witnessing a miracle, but Steve’s blinking hard, trying to fight off sudden fatigue. His eyes are getting heavy again and Steve isn’t dead –

 

Oh, shit, he isn’t dead.

 

“Buck,” Steve gasps, gripping Bucky’s shirt harder, “I gotta –”

 

“Shh, don’t use up your strength, honey,” Bucky tells him.

 

“I gotta tell you –” Steve struggles to say.

 

“Tell me what, sweet Omega?” Bucky asks.

 

“I love you,” Steve blurts it out.

 

Bucky’s face splits in another smile, his eyes glittering from tears unshed. He looks like he’s witnessing a miracle.

 

“I’m sorry I never said –” Steve adds in a hasty, croaking voice.

 

“Shh, it’s alright,” Bucky breaks in gently. He kisses Steve’s forehead, then his cheeks, his nose, and his lips again. “It’s alright, dragă, I love you, too.”

 

“I shou–should’a said sooner,” Steve says, his voice cracking. “I knew it but I – but I – I thought it was too soon –”

 

“It’s okay,” Bucky tells him, “I didn’t want to push you. Te iubesc, sweetheart, I love you.”

 

Steve blinks at him, his mouth opens uselessly.

 

“Te iubesc, dragă mea,” Bucky murmurs again.

 

“That –” Steve starts. “You – You’ve been saying that for _months_ –”

 

“It’s why I wouldn’t tell you what it meant,” Bucky confesses. “I had to say but I didn’t want to push you to say anything until you were ready.”

 

“You’ve been saying it for months,” Steve repeats hoarsely.

 

“I know,” Bucky says gently. He starts petting Steve’s hair, his hands truly tender. “I love you, sweetheart, I love you.”

 

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. “I love you,” he pushes out. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, what are you sorry for, sweetheart?” Bucky coos. “Don’t be sorry, dragoste, none of this was your fault –”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats harder, then chokes on a sob and Bucky kisses him again before pressing their cheeks together and burying his face in Steve’s pillow. “Na–Natasha told me to run an’ I d–didn’t listen. Garrett only wan’ned t’ teach me a lesson, ‘cause I bit the hand that fed me –”

 

“Don’t you say that,” Bucky interrupts, lifting his face and pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t you believe what that man told you. It’s not your fault, Fang was never trying to help you, honey –”

 

“I bit the hand that fed me,” Steve sobs out. “‘S all they kept saying! Garrett – He t–told everybody what my foster father said t’a me an’ –”

 

“It is not your fault,” Bucky insists firmly, “sweetheart, it’s gaslighting, remember? You remember Dr. Madini tellin’ you what gaslighting is?”

 

Steve chokes on an inhale and nods. Then there’s clattering and Steve lets out an involuntary yelp as the door flies open; he grabs Bucky and clings to him as nurses and a woman in a white coat rush in –

 

“Everybody calm down!” Bucky says quickly, holding out a hand to the rush of medical professionals. “Slow down!”

 

The doctor raises her hands. She approaches more slowly.

 

“Good afternoon,” she says. “Can you tell me what your name is?”

 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve answers faintly, hiccupping.

 

“Can you tell me who the most recent president is?” the doctor asks.

 

“Bernie Sanders,” Steve mumbles. “Why –”

 

“She’s checking your memory,” Bucky murmurs to him, taking his hands and squeezing them. “You’ve been asleep for a long time, honey.”

 

“How do you feel?” the doctor asks him, nearing and pulling one of the monitors to face her more properly.

 

“Okay,” Steve says quietly. “I guess.”

 

“Can you wiggle your toes for me?” a nurse asks, pulling the blanket off his feet.

 

Steve shifts one of his toes.

 

“Both big toes?” the nurse asks, gently squeezing his toes with gloved fingers. “Did you feel that?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “How – How long was I out?”

 

Bucky grips his hands. “Seven months,” he says.

 

“Oh,” Steve whispers. He looks at Bucky, whose face is totally serious. “Shit,” Steve whispers again.

 

“Can you wiggle your little toes for me?” the nurse asks.

 

Steve wiggles all of his toes. They must be checking for nerve damage.

 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” the doctor asks him, turning to face him.

 

Steve blinks, his gaze slipping away from her.

 

“Honey?” Bucky prompts.

 

“There were –” Steve starts, then swallows hard. “Rats. Cockroaches.”

 

The doctor nods. “What else do you remember?”

 

Steve opens his mouth, then glances at Bucky; Bucky starts petting his hair again.

 

“It was you,” Steve mumbles. “The last time someone came downstairs, it was you.”

 

“Yeah, it was me,” Bucky answers gently.

 

“Can you tell me the whole story of what happened?” the doctor asks him kindly.

 

Steve swallows again. His mouth is dry.

 

“Can I have some water?” he asks very quietly.

 

“I’ll get you some,” a nurse says, backing out of the room.

 

“You can take your time, sweetheart,” Bucky tells him.

 

“There’s no rush,” the doctor promises.

 

Steve gives a nod. He waits until the nurse returns with a cup of ice water and a straw, and Bucky takes it from her to hold for him. Steve tries to lift an arm to guide the straw into his mouth, but his left arm is incredibly weak and he only manages to lift it a few inches.

 

“Your muscles likely atrophied during the coma,” the doctor tells him and Steve makes a face. “Some simple physical therapy will help you regain your strength.”

 

“Here,” Bucky says gently, steadying the straw for him.

 

Steve reluctantly lets Bucky guide the straw into his mouth. He sucks on it for a second, then gets tired and pulls away. He feels like shit.

 

“Can you tell me what happened?” the doctor prompts.

 

“Do I have to?” Steve mutters.

 

“It will help us determine how extensive the brain damage you may have endured after the chloroform overdose is,” the doctor says.

 

Steve glances between her and Bucky. “Brain damage?”

 

“The chloroform did a number on you,” Bucky tells him. “And – And the rats, they were biting you when I found you, you got some real bad infections.”

 

“How bad?” Steve asks, his chest tightening. A machine nearby starts beeping rapidly as his heartbeat picks up, then, strangely, his heart cuts into a steadier rhythm.

 

“The pacemaker works,” the doctor remarks.

 

“Pacemaker?” Steve repeats dumbly. His chest continues to tighten but his heartbeat doesn’t spike – He does start to struggle to breathe, his lungs seize up in his chest –

 

“Inhaler,” the doctor snaps.

 

A nurse rushes a complicated inhaler over and the doctor bends to help him put it in his mouth. Steve hasn’t had to use an inhaler since he was in middle school, but he remembers what to do despite the doctor coaching him. He sucks down the medicine, foul as it is, and his breathing eases.

 

“Your asthma has gotten dramatically worse,” the doctor tells him. “You had to be put on an intubator for most of the time you were in the coma.”

 

“I grew out of my asthma,” Steve says weakly.

 

“The chloroform overdose likely brought it back,” the doctor says gently.

 

Steve looks at Bucky with wide eyes. “Wh–what happened to me?”

 

Bucky picks up his hand and strokes the back of it gently. “You nearly had total organ failure. They gave you a pacemaker. Your liver’s damaged; they were able to save it, but you might end up diabetic later in life. They had to take out your gallbladder because it was at risk of leaking. Your aortic and pulmonary valves had to be replaced. Your heart –”

 

Bucky breaks off, looking choked up. Steve doesn’t believe him.

 

“Your heart stopped four times before they induced a coma,” Bucky says. “At one point, you died for about three minutes.”

 

Steve blinks at him. He doesn’t believe it.

 

“It’s a miracle your brain didn’t fail,” the doctor says. “But at this point, there’s no reason you can’t make a full recovery.”

 

“You mentioned infections,” Steve mumbles. He looks at the doctor. “How bad?”

 

The doctor sighs and sets her hands on her hips, looking down his body. “Your left leg took the brunt of it, but we managed to avoid a full amputation.”

 

“A _full_ amputation?” Steve demands.

 

“We had to remove some necrotic flesh,” the doctor admits.

 

Steve struggles to sit up. Bucky puts his hands on his shoulders and pushes him back down.

 

“Don’t strain yourself,” he says.

 

“There’s a remote –” the doctor says, handing it to him.

 

Steve fumbles with it and tries to press the button to lift the back of the bed. His fingers are too weak.

 

Bucky takes it from him and presses the button for him. Steve lets his hands fall against the bed, looking at the blanket covering his legs with disgust. When he’s sitting up, he shifts the blanket off of himself – and it’s a miracle he’s strong enough to do that – to reveal his legs.

 

His right leg looks fine. His left leg is a matchstick beyond the knee.

 

“We can transplant some of the muscle from your right leg into the left,” the doctor tells him. “But we couldn’t do anything that wasn’t explicitly to save your life without your consent.”

 

Steve gives a nod. He likes that. He doesn’t know how he feels about having a pacemaker installed in his body or one having replaced heart valve let alone two without his consent.

 

“And again, physical therapy can allow you to function perfectly normally,” the doctor points out.

 

Steve looks longer at his legs. There’s a long scar up his left calf, but covering his legs are other, smaller scars. He lifts his hands and sees them covering his hands and arms.

 

“Those are from the rats,” Bucky says quietly. “Their teeth.”

 

Steve nods.

 

“When can I go home?” Steve asks carefully.

 

“We want to keep you for a while longer to make sure your body can handle the stress of being awake,” the doctor says. “I have a nutritional expert on staff that’s going to come speak with you about how to introduce solid foods to your diet, for now, you’re on an IV drip and I hope soon we can start a liquid diet. And I’d like you to start your PT here.”

 

“When can I go home?” Steve repeats.

 

“A few weeks,” the doctor says. “A month, no more.”

 

Steve looks at Bucky. Bucky squeezes his hand.

 

“I’m gonna stay with you,” he promises. “I’m not gonna leave.”

 

“Your therapist would like to come and speak with you while you’re in the hospital,” the doctor says then. Steve glances at her, then just looks at his mutilated left leg. “We’ll sit down and discuss how to manage your health from now on a little later,” she continues.

 

The nurse pulls the blanket back over his feet. Steve waits for all the hospital staff to leave before looking at Bucky. He forces a smile.

 

“I been a vegetable for seven months, huh?” he says.

 

“Technically you were catatonic,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve’s gaze slips away from him. He looks at his body. There’s an IV inserted into the back of his left hand. There are electrodes taped to his chest. The oxygen tube wrapped over his face. An oxygen monitor is clipped to one of his left fingers. He touches his chest, wondering if he could feel the pacemaker in his body. He can't.

 

“Seven months,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky reaches up and brushes a hand through his hair. Steve’s nose stings and he sniffs hard.

 

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” Bucky says carefully. “Before you woke up last week, the doctors were sure you weren’t gonna wake up at all.”

 

“Why’d you let ‘em do all this shit to me if you thought I wasn’t gonna wake up?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky tucks hair behind his ear and cups Steve’s face. Steve doesn’t look at him. After a minute, Bucky lets go, only to tap a finger under his chin.

 

Steve blinks slowly at his knees, then sighs and meets Bucky’s gaze.

 

“They did all that stuff right away,” Bucky tells him. “To save your life, you would have died without any of it. They induced the coma in order to keep you stable while they saved you, but then you didn’t wake up. And you still weren’t waking up, and they said you might not wake up at all –”

 

“Why’d you stay?” Steve blurts out.

 

Bucky gets up from his chair and frames Steve’s head in his hands to kiss his hair. Then he gently lifts Steve’s body from the bed, shifts him to the side and Bucky folds himself onto the bed next to Steve. Bucky wraps his arms around him and Steve, mindful of all the wires and the IV, curls into his side.

 

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky says quietly. “I know you have trouble believing people when they say that, so I’ll keep reminding you. I couldn’t not stay, dragă.”

 

Steve buries his face in Bucky’s shirt, feeling emotion rising in his throat. He swallows the urge to cry and just stays there, hiding in his Alpha’s embrace.

 

“They had to take you off heat suppressants,” Bucky says into his ear. “The doctor’s not sure if you’ll be able to take hormonal birth control anymore.”

 

“Get an IUD,” Steve mumbles.

 

Bucky nods. “Doc said that might work. But they had to wait until you woke up.”

 

Steve sucks in a breath, then carefully lets it back out. He shifts so his face isn’t hidden in Bucky’s chest anymore.

 

“Are you still gonna stay?” Steve asks hesitantly. “I – I’m not –”

 

“I’m gonna stay,” Bucky says before he can even finish. “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, punk.”

 

Steve nods tiredly. He fumbles with the hem of the blanket for a second, then Bucky carefully gets under the blanket himself and pulls it higher. Steve rests his cheek on Bucky’s chest and shuts his eyes.

 

“Am I allowed to sleep?” he asks.

 

“They’re gonna wake you up every hour,” Bucky answers.

 

“Nap,” Steve decides.

 

Bucky is on his right side and Steve doesn’t want to move the hand with the IV in it more than he needs to, so he simply lays against Bucky’s side. Bucky kisses his hair and Steve nudges his cheek absently against Bucky’s shirt.

 

“I love you,” he mumbles.

 

“I love you, too,” Bucky answers.

 

*

 

Steve grits his teeth and forces his leg to take his weight. His arms tremble as he holds onto the bars on either side of him. His left leg shakes violently as Steve puts weight on it, then it buckles.

 

“Whoa, now!” Elise calls out, catching him under the arms as he falls. “Take your time, Steve.”

 

“It’s been nine months,” Steve spits out, pulling himself up with his arms and putting his weight on his right leg instead. “I’ve taken enough time!”

 

“These things can take longer than that,” Elise tells him gently. “You’ve gotten really far in the past nine months, too, no wheelchair anymore, you can walk just fine with a cane –”

 

“I’d like to be able to walk on my own,” Steve answers sharply. He gets his breath back, his lungs rattling in his chest, then waves Elise away. “I can do it,” he insists.

 

Elise takes a step back, close enough to catch him if his leg gives out again. She folds her hands in front of her and nods to him.

 

Steve takes a deep breath and steps forward with his left leg. Again, it quakes under his weight, what little he has, but he takes the step forward with his right leg a little quicker this time.

 

“Woohoo!” Elise cheers, clapping for him.

 

“You don’t gotta celebrate every step I take,” Steve grumbles.

 

“Yeah, I do!” Elise claims, stepping closer and to the end of the bars he’s holding onto to hold out his cane to him. “Every step is a victory, Steve!”

 

Steve gives her a small smile. Elise grins.

 

“One more step,” she says, “then we’ll rest your leg and give your shoulders heat and STEM.”

 

Steve nods, grateful she’s noticed that his shoulders are paining him without him having to say so. He takes another steadying breath, then picks up his left foot and bends his knee to lift it forward. He winces a little as his knee sticks, but he gets his foot down and takes another breath before trying to put weight on it.

 

“I saw that,” Elise says. “I think we’ll try another cortisone shot next time.”

 

Steve doesn’t argue. He transfers his weight onto his left leg slowly, then steps forward with his right foot. Elise cheers again.

 

“You’re doing great!” she encourages him, holding out his cane. “I’m so proud of you!”

 

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles. He leans his left arm on the bars to slip his hand through the forearm support on the cane, which is more of a crutch, then grips the handle and gets his bearings. He lets go of the bars and leans heavily on the cane to step forward with his left leg.

 

Elise puts a hand on the small of his back and holds an arm out in case he needs the extra support, but Steve hasn’t needed to walk with both crutches in a month. She walks him to a padded table and helps him sit before propping his cane against the table for him. Steve lets his head fall against the raised part of the table and exhales heavily.

 

“Tough work?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve waves a hand in his direction. “I’m considering taking Stark up on his offer to make me a robot leg.”

 

“Robot leg supports,” Bucky corrects.

 

Steve waves a hand again. Bucky leans over and kisses Steve’s cheek, his beard tickling him and Steve waves him off, giggling because of the tickling that he's still not used to. Bucky kisses him a second time before dropping back into his chair, smiling to himself. Steve sticks his tongue out at Bucky.

 

“You realize now I get to spank you when we get home,” Bucky says in a private tone.

 

Steve grins. “I know,” he answers.

 

“Here we are,” Elise says, pulling up the STEM machine with two heavy heated pads wrapped in towels over her arm. “How’s your back been doing lately?”

 

“Ugh,” Steve says.

 

“I can work on it after you’ve had your STEM,” Elise offers. “Have you been doing your exercises at home?”

 

“That jerk won’t let me skip ‘em,” Steve complains, jabbing a thumb at Bucky.

 

“Well, then he’s doing his job,” Elise tells him while Bucky laughs.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. Elise has him lean forward so she can attach electrodes to his shoulders and upper back, then lay the heat over his neck and back. He lets his head rest on the raised flat of the table while Elise turns on the machine. He tells her when it’s strong enough and she pulls up a stool to massage the soreness out of his leg before putting heat on it.

 

She leaves Steve alone with Bucky in the private rehab room and Steve looks over to his right absently, finding Bucky working on his tablet.

 

“Hey,” he says.

 

Bucky looks up and smiles. “Hi,” he answers.

 

“Will you tie me up when we get home?” Steve asks.

 

“Sure,” Bucky says, reaching over and taking his hand. “Do you wanna watch a documentary?”

 

Steve nods. Bucky lifts his hand and kisses the back of it, then continues to hold it while he resumes working.

 

Elise returns when the timer for his STEM session starts beeping, unhooking him from the machine and putting down the lifted portion of the table. Steve lies flat on his stomach and she pushes back his shirt to work the knots out of his lower back around his scoliosis, then lays more heat over his back and lets him sit for another twenty minutes. Steve falls asleep.

 

After, Lance meets them in the main lobby of the hospital. Steve leans on his cane and has his hand gripping Bucky’s arm, but Luke has the car right outside and he doesn’t have to walk far. Bucky helps him into the car and Steve lays down on the bench to put his head in Bucky’s lap as Luke drives them home.

 

“You need me to carry you upstairs?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve shakes his head. “I can do it,” he mumbles.

 

“I know you can,” Bucky answers, “but it’s been a long day and you’re tired, dragă. Do you need me to carry you?”

 

Steve pouts. Bucky doesn’t fall for it.

 

“Fine,” Steve grumbles.

 

Bucky kisses his forehead. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he prompts.

 

Steve ignores that question. “Are you working tomorrow?” he asks instead.

 

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Bucky says gently.

 

Steve gives him a look. “Like that’s stopped you before,” he says dryly.

 

Bucky laughs gently and shakes his head. “No, I’m not working.”

 

“Good,” Steve answers, reaching up and patting Bucky’s cheek absently. “The doctor says I should be nesting soon.”

 

“Then I won’t be working if you need me,” Bucky reminds him.

 

Steve yawns. “‘M only nesting, ‘s not pre-heat.”

 

“You’ll still want me around,” Bucky says.

 

“Natasha can sit with me when you need to be somewhere,” Steve mumbles.

 

“That’s a good compromise,” Bucky agrees and Steve shifts on the bench to press his face into Bucky’s stomach.

 

Steve hasn’t had a nesting period or a heat since high school when he first began birth control, but since he can’t take hormonal birth control anymore, he’s had to have an IUD implanted. The IUD doesn’t stop heats, only prevents pregnancy. Steve’s glad he has Bucky, because facing a heat on his own for the first time in ten or so years is a daunting prospect. His body has slowly recovered from his coma and the damage the chloroform did, that his hormones have taken this long to start a fresh cycle. Steve is glad he has Bucky, because he fully trusts his Alpha to take good care of him while he’s in heat.

 

He falls asleep again in the car and doesn’t even wake up when Bucky carries him upstairs. He wakes up on the couch, snuggled into Bucky’s chest, with a quiet film about the Great Barrier Reef playing on the TV.

 

“Should go there sometime,” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s chest.

 

“How about our anniversary?” Bucky suggests.

 

“A good plan,” Steve says. He snuggles closer. “I think this is nesting,” he says.

 

Bucky kisses his hair. “Do you still want me to tie you up and spank you?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says happily. "Spank me later, cuddle me now."

 

Bucky chuckles and helps him sit up, then picks him up and carries him upstairs. Bucky undresses him, weaves a harness out of silk ropes over his torso, and then carries him back downstairs.

 

They resume snuggling on the sofa. Steve falls asleep again.

 

*

 

“Stop pouting,” Bucky tells Steve as they head towards baggage claims.

 

“I will pout until you let me out of this wheelchair,” Steve answers firmly. “I can walk!”

 

“Yes, but you don’t have to,” Bucky says, leaning down to peck his cheek.

 

Steve continues pouting in the wheelchair. Bucky is the one pushing it, at least. Steve had hoped he’d be allowed to walk once they set down in Sydney, but no, he’s still confined to the wheelchair, and Bucky’s brought theirs from home so they’ll have it the whole week they’re there. Bucky had better not try to make Steve use it once they leave the airport.

 

“I can walk,” Steve grumbles under his breath while Luke and Lance go to collect their bags.

 

“I know, honey,” Bucky replies, rubbing his knuckles against the back of Steve’s neck. “It’s just until we get to the hotel.”

 

“Look on the bright side,” Clint remarks to Steve, “you’re not dead.”

 

Steve looks at Clint and blinks at him. “That’s a very bleak bright side,” he says.

 

“He’s a very bleak Alpha,” Natasha sighs. “I think it’s because he was raised by monkeys.”

 

“I was raised by circus clowns!” Clint defends himself.

 

Natasha, Bucky, and Steve look at him.

 

“That’s not better, is it?” Clint says.

 

“That’s worse,” Steve tells him.

 

“I was raised by the circus as a whole,” Clint elaborates.

 

“What lead to you being raised in the circus?” Steve asks, thoroughly confused.

 

“Uh, they found me?” Clint says, shrugging.

 

“Like _The Jungle Book?_ ” Bucky questions.

 

Natasha sighs and covers her eyes with a hand. “The hotel has mini-bars, right?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Neither me or Steve can drink alcohol, I didn’t check.”

 

“I miss champagne,” Steve sighs.

 

“I bought alcohol-free champagne,” Bucky adds.

 

“Yay!” Steve says, lifting his hands in jubilation.

 

Bucky grins down at him, then ducks and kisses him. Steve grins against his lips and Bucky sweeps a hand over his jaw before straightening.

 

“I’m not looking forward to having to be security on your honeymoon,” Natasha says.

 

Steve colors. Bucky laughs.

 

“All good, boss,” Hunter calls, he and Luke nearing with a trolley laden with their suitcases.

 

“Let’s go, then,” Bucky says, pushing Steve’s wheelchair forward.

 

“Are we gonna go to the Sydney Opera House?” Steve asks, looking up at Bucky.

 

“Of course,” Bucky says.

 

“When?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Bucky tells him.

 

Steve sits back in his wheelchair. The sunlight makes him squint for a minute while airport employees bring up their rental cars, but by the time Bucky helps him into the car the two of them would be using during the week, his eyes have managed to adjust. They take a long time to respond to light ever since the chloroform. He has sunglasses somewhere, but he keeps misplacing them

 

Bucky gets in on the other side and holds out Steve’s sunglasses. Steve grins at him and puts them on.

 

“Happy anniversary, dragoste,” Bucky tells him.

 

“Happy anniversary, Daddy,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve leans on his shoulder and smiles to himself as they drive to the hotel.

 

“When are we gonna go snorkeling?” he asks.

 

“Wednesday,” Bucky says.

 

“Mmkay,” Steve says. “Did you bring anything from the closet?”

 

“One or two things,” Bucky replies.

 

Steve smiles again. “I love you.”

 

Bucky picks up his hand and kisses the back of it. “I love you, too, sweet Omega.”

 

At the hotel after dinner at a fancy restaurant, they lie in bed. Something dumb plays on the TV that neither of them pays attention to. Steve is curled into Bucky’s side and they are lazily kissing.

 

“I love you,” Bucky murmurs to him.

 

Steve grins. “I love you, too,” he is happy to say back.

 

Bucky swings a leg over him to cover Steve's body, but instead of putting his weight on Steve's hips and kissing him, Bucky picks something up from the nightstand and holds it between them. Steve takes the slim diamond ring from him and blinks at it.

 

“Marry me,” Bucky says.

 

Steve pulls him into a kiss. “Sure,” he says against his lips. Bucky laughs.

 

####  _curtain call._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _the end. guys, i had so much fun writing this, working with chaos and lexi and the rest of the Cap Big Bang community. i wanna thank everybody on the CapBB slack who sympathized with me and helped with little details like what brands of makeup steve should buy from fifth avenue. chaos has really turned into a great friend and if you're not following her on tumblr already, pls do, she's amazing. (she drew me a post-serum steeb in some hella fine lingerie for my birthday and y'all, you know i'm writing a scene in edges blurred for that art. if you haven't seen it it's[here](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179690782446/happy-belated-birthday-moonythejedi394) i'm so in love with it!!) if you haven't already reblogged the art chaos made, chapter eight's drawing is [here](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179487629801/steve-realizes-that-hes-shivering-bucky-finally) and chapter one's is [here](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/179382932886/barnes-leaves-his-hand-where-its-barely-touching). and y'all know my beta lexi puts up with a lot of my shit, but it was actually this story that started the cycle of me writing too much and lexi judging my previous coffee addictions. and i wouldn't have met her if it weren't for my sister-in-law, so thanks bethica. last, thank you guys for signing up for this mess of 200k+ self-indulgent mafia and a/b/o fic. the feedback and support i've gotten for this fic has been amazing, there's always something new in my inbox to make me smile. i'm glad i got to brighten your days, too, as some of you have told me._
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> _so, this is your friendly neighborhood angst queen signing off for the last time on **the Kept Boy**. thank you guys for reading and i'll see you in the next fic._

**Author's Note:**

> _follow me on[tumblr](http://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/moonythejedi394)or [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/moonythejedi394) bc tumblr is dying or chaos on [tumblr](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/) or [on twitter](https://twitter.com/Neutralchaos1)_


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